


placebo feelings

by alpha_exodus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Furniture, Hate Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Unsafe Sex, Post-Break Up, Roommates, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: Kent hates Bitty. Really, he does - until he doesn't.But what is he supposed to do when Bitty starts living with him?





	placebo feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017) collection. 



> my prompt was bittyparse/hate!sex, which is extremely my jam and i hope it's yours too ;)
> 
> title from 'mirrors' by pvris. ty to E for reading through this!

Kent truly, sincerely does not know how this ended up happening.

First of all, what in the world is this bizarre hell-timeline where of all the fucking gay bars in Las Vegas, he’s chosen the one that happens to have Jack's fucking ex in it?

He swears right then and there that he's never going to stray from his usual bar again, if this is what it gets him. He should one-hundred percent just have stayed at home and watched Netflix. He's getting too old for partying anyway.

Second of all, this is definitely, completely that Bittle kid’s own fault. _He's_ the one who locked eyes with Kent across the room, the one who walked over half an hour later and asked to ' _just_ talk', the one who acted all falsely sweet for about three minutes and thirty seconds of their conversation, lulling Kent into a false sense of security, and then—

 _‘Snap!’_ went the jaws of fate. Or maybe just of Bittle's petty fucking mouth.

Which, whatever. Kent doesn't blame him. Kent never should’ve trusted him in the first place, because it's obvious now from where they're staring each other down across the table that Bittle hates his guts.

And truly, if Kent were in Bittle’s place? He would hate him too.

“You _hurt_ him,” Bittle says, slamming his hands on the table so hard their empty glasses rattle. “And you didn't even _apologize_.”

“Yeah, look, kid. He didn't want my apology. He was never gonna listen to me, okay?”

Jack stopped listening to him a long, long time ago.

It still hurts.

“I am a full-grown man, Kent Parson, and it's the thought that counts! You were just bein' a stubborn asshole. Admit it!” Bittle crosses his arms, and it looks aggressive at first but the more Kent looks at him, the more it looks like Bittle’s just trying to hold all the pieces of himself together.

But then, Kent is too, so Bittle doesn’t really have any excuse for being rude.

“Can I ask you something?” Kent says.

Bittle glares at him mutely.

All right then, Kent’s going to ask him anyway. “Why do you even fucking care anymore? I thought he was your ex.”

Bittle flinches, his expression somehow growing even sourer than it was before. Kent can nearly smell the spoiled milk.

“It's none of your business,” Bittle snaps. “But for the record, exes can be friends if they try hard enough. I guess that’s not something you woulda known.” It comes off smarmy and petty and God, Kent wants to wipe that glare off of Bittle's face.

He can’t stop himself from lashing out this time, and to be honest, he doesn’t even try. “You think I didn't _try?_ It was _him!_ You literally do not know how many times I called him, just trying to see if he was even fucking okay, and he didn't care enough to give me the fucking time of day. He dropped me just like he drops everything else he doesn't care about anymore.”

Bittle’s face goes stony. “Don't you talk about him like that.”

“What, you don't want the truth? Why not? Oh, is that what happened to you?” Kent says it in a higher-pitched voice, almost sing-song, nasty on purpose because this guy is digging into things that need to finally lie _dead_ , damnit.

When Bittle's expression crumples, he knows he's hit the mark. “Shut _up_.”

And, well. Kent's not exactly great at shutting up, especially when he's angry, so he leans forward and says, “I bet he hasn't even called you since you broke up.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Bittle says, standing, slamming his hands on the table again.

“What, you wanna fight? Wanna bruise me up for the press? I’m just putting the truth out on the table. It’s not my fault you can’t face it.” Kent knows he’s just goading him now, along with being hypocritical as fuck, but this is the dangerous, risky kind of fun that management hasn’t allowed him to get within ten feet of in the past few years.

He’s kind of missed talking shit.

“I’m not gonna fight you, Kent Parson,” Bittle says, but his glare and the step he takes around the table toward Kent say otherwise.

“Well,” says Kent, standing. “If you’re gonna beat me up, at least don’t do it in public. Bad publicity, y’know. I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t want Jack to see you getting your hands all dirty.”

“I don’t give a _damn_ what he thinks anymore!” Bittle says, and it comes out as a loud enough shout even over the pounding of the music that a couple people nearby turn their heads to look. Bittle doesn’t even seem to notice.

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be so fuckin’ pissed right now,” Kent shoots back at a significantly quieter volume.

“I’m pissed because you’re an _asshole_ ,” Bittle growls, taking another step forward, and now he’s right in Kent’s space. Kent could punch him if he wanted to.

Kent could also lean forward and kiss him.

If he wanted to.

Which he _doesn’t_. And—holy fuck, he hasn’t had a thought like _that_ in ages, hasn’t felt such a strange fucking rush of sexual tension like this in years. Why the hell—

Oh. Shit.

This feels exactly like fighting with Jack, doesn’t it?

What a fucking riot.

Because—yeah, maybe they used to have sex after fighting, and God knows it wasn’t healthy, but Kent can still feel the heat of Jack’s skin if he shuts his eyes hard enough, the rough squeeze of hands and the pain-pleasure of Jack sinking into him, holding him down, making him beg for it—

He can’t think about that right now.

Honestly, he never wanted to think about that again, because it makes him feel regretful and lonely and kind of dirty, but. There’s no way he was gonna be able to have such a tense conversation about Jack and _not_ have those kinds of thoughts cross his mind.

“So I’m the asshole, huh?” he says quietly enough that at first he’s not sure Bittle’s heard him. “Instead of the guy who abandoned us both?”

“He didn’t abandon me! I said that already—are you even listening? We’re _friends_!” But Bittle’s voice cracks on the last word, and then his lip starts trembling.

Oh, God, Bittle’s going to cry, isn’t he?

And Kent has no idea how to handle that. Anger, he can do; fury is easy to match, to dredge up from the realm of his bitter heart and let loose on the world, but despair is a whole different animal, and not one he particularly likes, not at all—

Kent’s sadness is his own. Yeah, sure, he has a fucking ocean-full, but he’s careful not to let it show because that’s not fucking allowed when you’re a pro hockey player, when you’re on TV every other week giving interviews and strictly avoiding any talk of feelings other than ‘ _hell yeah, we’re gonna win this game! I’m super proud of the team._ ’

But here Bittle is, his eyes welling up in the middle of the damn club, and Kent has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do about it.

“ _God_ ,” Bittle says, only it’s a sob, and before Kent knows it he’s shaking his head, gritting his teeth, and grabbing Bittle’s sleeve, dragging him out of the club, thumbing in the password to his Uber account and hoping against hope that this won’t be the most stupid thing he’s done in literal years.

Bittle is quiet as they climb inside the car, but his shoulders are still shaking. He doesn’t object when Kent confirms his own address with the driver, even though Kent mostly expects him to ask to be taken to some hotel or other, and he doesn’t say a single word as they get out of the car at Kent’s building, even as Kent nods at the doorman and leads him to the elevator.

He doesn’t say a word until Kent hits the button for the top floor, at which he snorts wetly and says, “Penthouse. Of course.”

“I’m rich,” Kent says unapologetically, because, well. He _is._ He didn’t used to be, but now he is, and he’s going to buy nice stuff and have a nice apartment because what else is he supposed to do with the honestly ridiculous amount of money he has now?

Bittle rolls his eyes, but at least he’s stopped crying.

Kent steps off the elevator, walks down the hall and unlocks his door. Bittle follows him as he walks into the living room and snaps on the lights, heading straight through to the kitchen so he can rummage in the fridge. “Beer?”

“Sure,” Bittle says. Kent briefly debates on giving him one of the PBRs he has stashed in the back corner from some party or another, but caves and gives him one of the bottles from the local brewery he likes.

Bittle doesn’t even give him a nod of appreciation. Rude little shit.

They sit in the austere metal bar stools that face the kitchen, the ones that Kent’s always hated because they’re uncomfortable as fuck. His interior designer picked them out. Kent hadn’t cared enough to object.

“These chairs are _awful_ ,” Bittle says, finally breaking the silence after approximately a minute and forty-five seconds. “I can’t get comfortable. How do you live like this?”

Kent hides a snicker in his beer. “Don’t you know it’s rude to comment on other people’s furniture?”

Bittle wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, sure, my Mama would prob’ly have a cow, but—I mean, look at this place!” he says, throwing out his arm and gesturing at the tastefully modernized living room. “I bet literally nothing in here is comfortable. What’s the point of having a couch that isn’t comfortable?” He jabs a finger toward the slim hard black leather couch that Kent’s sat on maybe twice because yeah, okay, it’s pretty hard.

“I have comfortable furniture,” Kent retorts, downing the rest of his beer and leaning back on his chair—which, ow, these are not meant to conform to his back at all, are they? He shifts again, trying to hide his discomfort because Bittle doesn’t need to know that Kent wholeheartedly agrees with him.

“Like what? Your bed?” Bittle raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

And—God. Kent’s thrown off-guard, because—

With anyone else that would almost certainly be a come-on. But. There’s no way.

“Well, yeah. I mean, of course,” he says, feeling about as far from smooth as he could possibly get.

“Are you seriously telling me that your bed is the only comfortable thing in your apartment?” Bittle’s expression says that this is somehow some kind of a great offense, which is two-parts hilarious and one part oh-my-God-is-he-actually-hitting-on-me?—which, well. Kent’s not really sure.

Maybe Bittle’s just obsessed with furniture. Or something.

Kent seriously thinks about everything he owns for a second. And so what if Bittle’s right, and most of it is decorative? It’s not like he really spends much time out in the living area. “Uh… Yeah.”

Bittle gives an exasperated sigh. “All that money and you’re not even _trying_ to improve your quality of life, are ya?”

“Hey. My bed is like, _really_ nice,” Kent says, and oh God he’s really not trying to hit on Bittle—except maybe he kind of sort of is, in the very very back of his mind. Now that they’re not in the dim lighting of the club and Bittle’s not crying anymore, well. Bittle’s pretty fucking cute, okay? Slim and blond and fit. And—and maybe Kent has a thing for that perpetual glare that Bittle’s been wearing ever since they started talking.

And Bittle is maybe-hitting on him.

…And Kent likes it. Fuck, he really likes it.

It’s been a long time since someone’s maybe-sort-of pursued him for reasons that aren’t ‘ _OMG, aren’t you that hockey player??’_

“There’s only so nice a bed can be,” Bittle says, crossing his arms.

“Oh my God, just come see, okay?” Kent slides off of his chair (thank _fuck_ ), padding off toward the bedroom, because—fuck it.

With anyone else, he would be very, very sure that they’re about to have sex right now.

With Bittle? Yeah, he has no idea what the fuck is going to happen.

At least his bedroom is sort of clean. He turns on the light and looks at the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the folding chair in the corner—and yeah, maybe he got fed up with the interior designer halfway through planning out his apartment, and then sort of just never got around to actually buying anything else.

It’s fine. He’s lived with it.

He raises his eyebrows, gesturing to the bed. “Go on.”

Looking unconvinced, Bittle walks over and sits down on it. He gives it about half a second of consideration before he grimaces and says, “It’s too soft.”

“What? No it isn’t! You’re not even lying down,” Kent says, striding over to the other side of the bed and climbing on top of the covers to demonstrate. “It conforms naturally to your body shape, you know.”

Bittle snorts. “You sound like a salesman.”

“C’mon, lay down,” Kent urges, a strange, foreign energy flitting around in his chest.

“Fine, fine,” Bittle says, and lays down next to him. After a few seconds, he rolls to his side, facing toward Kent. “I guess this is all right.”

“Just all _right?_ You’re crazy,” Kent tells him, shaking his head.

“I’m agreeing with you!” Bittle retorts.

They’re close enough that Kent can feel it when Bittle shifts on the mattress.

Okay.

Yeah.

Kent really wants to fuck him.

He doesn’t really know what it says about him, that he wants to fuck his ex’s ex, but. Bittle’s hot and in his bed and giving him kind of a look, and Kent’s still kind of turned on from their fight earlier—fuck.

“What?” Bittle says.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at me all funny.”

“It’s ’cuz you don’t like my bed,” Kent says, but he thinks they both know he’s lying.

Bittle’s eyes flit away and then back to Kent again. He looks almost scared.

Kent knows that feeling all too well.

Bittle clears his throat. “I don’t like you.”

Well. That kinda hurts. “I already knew that, Bittle.”

Bittle’s face contorts into an unreadable expression. “Don’t call me Bittle. Just—Bitty’s fine.”

“Okaaay,” Kent says slowly. Bitty. A hockey nickname, obviously. He wonders why the last name’s off limits, but as soon as he thinks it, it occurs to him that it’s probably because that’s what Jack called him. “Bitty. You hate my guts. That’s not exactly new information.”

“Just,” Bitty says, then sighs. “I haven’t ever slept with someone I didn’t like before, okay?”

A shiver runs down Kent’s spine. “I have. It’s really not so different.”

Bitty frowns. “I mean—I’ve had sex with strangers. I mean _really_ didn’t like.”

Kent shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve done it.”

“Really? Wait—” Bitty’s eyebrows shoot up. “It wasn’t—him, was it?”

“It was,” Kent admits, rolling onto his back. “Jack and I hated each other at first. I lost my virginity to him the night before captains were announced our first year in the Q. We fought about it in the locker room after a big scrim, and then we fucked in the showers. Probably the least romantic sex I’ve ever had, but. It’s not a big deal. Just like sleeping with anyone else.”

That last part is a lie. There’s a level of exhilaration that used to build in Kent’s body when they fucked after an argument, more excitement than he’s ever felt with anyone else—but it was always polluted by the smallest dark specks of shame, his conscience shouting in the back of his mind that this was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

And that exhilarating feeling was lost forever once Kent actually started falling in love; the shame overwhelmed it, tarnished it beyond recognition. Maybe it was because by that point, Jack was already starting to pull away.

Or maybe it was because Kent always kind of knew that Jack didn’t love him back.

Bitty swallows. “We’re gonna—you know, aren’t we?”

Kent’s dick throbs in his pants. He hadn’t even realized he was hard. His voice is rusty when he opens his mouth and says, “Yeah. I mean, assuming you wanna.”

Bitty scoots closer on the bed, a little furrow in his brow. He looks nervous. “I—yes. But. Isn’t this, I dunno. Wrong?”

Wrong, wrong, _wrong_. It echoes in his brain like an alarm blaring, one that he puts on snooze without a second thought.

Kent looks at Bitty, really looks. Bitty’s close enough that Kent can see the little flecks of light brown that dot his eyes, the freckles spattered across his nose, can even feel Bitty’s breath on his face. “Is it wrong?” Kent raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

Bitty’s breath hitches.

Kent leans in and kisses him.

The first touch of their mouths sends a shudder down Kent’s spine, and Bitty immediately winds his body around Kent’s, pulls them flush together and slides his fist into Kent’s hair in a way that’s certainly not gentle. Kent gives as much as he gets, kissing Bitty with all the passion he can muster—and it’s not hard, not when he’s still a little mad about all the shit Bitty said earlier, to press their mouths together so hard it almost hurts. Bitty parts his lips and Kent flicks his tongue in, then bites at Bitty’s bottom lip until Bitty lets out a satisfying groan.

“God, I hate you,” Bitty says, breaking away, gasping.

“Yeah,” Kent replies, and then they’re kissing again and Bitty’s crawling on top of him, straddling him, pressing his hips against Kent’s so that Kent can feel the hard line of Bitty’s cock even through both of their pants.

_Fuck._

“Please tell me you have lube,” Bitty mutters, leaning down and nipping at Kent’s neck.

Kent arches his back, heart beating like a freight train at full speed. “Well, yeah, I’m not an— _oh_ —I’m not an idiot.”

“Mhmm,” Bitty says, sounding entirely unconvinced. He sits up, looking around the room. “And where is it?”

Kent sighs, flushing. “In the closet.”

Bitty doesn’t even try to stifle his mean little laugh. “Don’t you think that keeping the lube in your _closet_ would make it a lot harder for you to get laid? This is all because ya don’t have furniture,” he says matter-of-factly, climbing off of Kent and rolling to the side. When Kent glares at him, he elbows Kent in the ribs. “Well? Go get it.”

“Bossy,” Kent accuses, climbing off the bed nonetheless to go rummage in the closet shelves. But then he finds the lube and turns around, and—oh, Bitty’s standing next to the bed now, pulling his shirt off and tossing his shirt in the floor, and _fuck_ , Kent wants to touch him.

He throws the bottle of lube vaguely in the direction of the headboard and advances on Bitty, pressing him backwards until he hits the bed, sliding his hands up the bare, warm skin of Bitty’s back and kissing him soundly until he squirms. Then Kent nudges him gently backwards, waits for him to take the hint and flop down on the bed, shirtless, eyeing Kent with an expression that could probably best be interpreted as disdain.

Fuck. Kent didn’t even know he thought that was sexy.

That probably says a lot about his and Jack’s relationship back in the day.

“Condoms?” Bitty asks, and Kent grimaces.

“I don’t have ’em.”

“Shame,” Bitty says, and shrugs. “You don’t have any STDs or anything, right?”

Kent wrinkles his nose. “Ew. Fuck no.”

“Good. I got tested this past summer,” Bitty says, and then he pulls Kent down to kiss him again.

“How do you want it?” Kent asks, gasping, his voice husky in a way he’s sort of pleased with as he finally climbs on top of Bitty.

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Slow down. We ain’t even naked yet.” He’s trying to seem unaffected but his accent is coming through, and a pulse of arousal flares between Kent’s hips. Bitty wants him, maybe, and the thought of that is enough to push him into that space of exhilaration, the sort of excitement he hasn’t felt since, well. Since Jack.

Bitty also definitely hates him.

Kent kind of hates himself for wanting to get off on that.

“So? Take your clothes off already,” Bitty complains, tugging at Kent’s shirt, and Kent laughs.

“Impatient,” he says, chuckling, and helps Bitty pull the shirt the rest of the way off.

“If we go fast, I don’t hafta think about the fact that it’s you,” Bitty says, eyes hard.

Kent pauses, shirt balled in one hand, and looks at him. “You know… we don’t _have_ to do this.”

“No, I want to,” Bitty assures him, lips twisting as he looks away. “Look, you’re. You’re really hot, okay?”

Swallowing, Kent pastes a smirk onto his face. “Please, go on,” he says, letting his shirt fall to the floor. He slides his hands down his stomach to fumble with the button on his jeans, which has the desired effect of drawing Bitty’s eyes to his abs, then his crotch.

“That’s basically it,” Bitty says, shrugging. Still, his eyes don’t leave Kent’s hands as Kent pops the button open and pulls down his zipper, sitting up on his knees so that he can shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. “God, okay, why the fuck are you so _attractive?_ ” Bitty grumbles, pouting. “Assholes shouldn’t be allowed to be so hot. It’s unfair.”

Kent slides off the bed so he can shuck his clothing the rest of the way, then leans over Bitty and starts pulling at the waistband of his little red shorts. “I could say the same about you,” he says, a half-smile on his lips.

Bitty flushes. “Don’t lie.”

Frowning, Kent pauses in his quest to get them both naked. “What? I think you’re hot.”

Bitty tries and fails to hide a small smile. “Well, sure. But I’m not an asshole.”

“Sure you aren’t.” Snorting, Kent tugs Bitty’s shorts down, and Bitty lifts his hips obligingly. He’d gone commando, apparently, because his dick springs out, flushed and hard against his stomach, drawing Kent’s eyes in a way that makes it hard to look away.

Then Kent leans down and takes Bitty’s dick into his mouth because he kind of wants to make him scream.

It nearly works.

“God— _fuck_ ,” Bitty groans, his hips bucking, so Kent shifts so he can hold him to the bed with one hand, bobbing his head down as far as he can. “Guess your mouth is good for somethin’, ain’t it?” Bitty mutters in between gasps.

Which. Ouch. Kent sits up again, panting, and frowns. “Hey. That hurt.”

“Oh. Too far? Sorry,” Bitty says, and he actually looks apologetic so Kent lets it slide, bending down to suck at him again.

But Bitty stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You should fuck me.”

Kent’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, reaching over to pat around for the bottle of lube. He finds it, then squirms out from under Kent so he can crawl over to the pillows, ass in the air, his legs spread. God, he looks debauched, his skin all flushed and his mouth hanging partly open as he looks back at Kent. “Here,” he says, and hands Kent the lube.

Kent has to unstick his throat before he can speak. “You sure?”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m not fragile or nothin’. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Kent snorts.

Bitty looks unamused. “You’re not allowed to make fun of my accent, okay?”

“Damn, you’re taking all the fun out of this,” Kent says, popping open the cap on the bottle with hands that might be shaking a little.

He’s not sure why he’s nervous.

Maybe because this reminds him so much of being with Jack.

Which—well, duh. It’s Jack’s ex, after all.

And then there’s the whole hating-each-other thing… which he decides right then and there that he’s not going to think about at the moment.

He lubes up his fingers and caps the bottle, setting it down within reach. Then he uses his other hand to spread Bitty open, presses the slick pad of his finger to Bitty’s entrance and pushes in, slowly, slowly.

“ _Nngh_ ,” Bitty says, adjusting his hips for a better angle.

“Thought this wasn’t your first rodeo?” Kent teases.

“Oh, shut up,” Bitty groans. Then, “Hnngh. Feels good.”

“Yeah?” Kent asks, and then Bitty looks back at him again and suddenly the world gets a little softer.

Bitty’s eyes are wide open, vulnerable in a way that Jack’s never were when they were having sex. Not with Kent. Kent suddenly feels like they’re on more level of a playing field than he expected to be, because, well.

Maybe they’re both a little broken.

And—even after all their arguing, it seems pretty likely that Bitty’s really _not_ an asshole, not from the way Bitty’s looking at him right now. Kent doesn’t know if it’s possible for someone to look so vulnerable and be completely awful at their core. It doesn’t add up.

Which maybe makes it Kent’s fault that Bitty’s been so bristly.

Of course it is. It’s always Kent’s fault.

Just like with Jack.

“Kent,” Bitty says, softly, and oh. It’s the first time Bitty’s used his first name like that. It’s not supposed to be sexy, but it is, and Kent has to hold back a tiny moan that wants to slip out from under his tongue. “Fuck me, Kent,” Bitty pleads, spreading his legs wider, and Kent _wants_ then, wants him desperately.

“Gotta open you up,” he says, his voice coming out a little strangled, because fuck, fuck, Bitty’s so—so. Hot, maybe. Devastating with the way he’s looking at Kent, definitely.

“Well hurry, then,” Bitty says, arching one of his brows, and the softness is lost—but Kent can’t help a small grin from spreading on his lips anyway.

He takes Bitty’s advice and pushes a second finger in, reveling in the slickness, the tightness of Bitty’s body around him, and then adds a third when he feels like Bitty’s ready to take it. He crooks his fingers, searching, fucking him slowly until he finds the spot that makes Bitty’s whole body go tense—

“Oh God, oh God—come on, _please_ , I can’t—please,” Bitty babbles out, his breath ragged, his back arched.

“Okay, okay,” Kent says, and then he pulls his fingers out and Bitty lets out a long whine, slumping down to bury his face in the pillow. “Flip over?” Kent asks.

Bitty groans. “Why? Don’t tell me you actually wanna look at my face.”

Kent doesn’t really have anything to say to that. “Better positioning,” he fibs, fiddling with the lube bottle so he can slick up his cock.

“That’s a lie,” Bitty says, but he flips over anyway, hooking his hands around his knees and spreading himself wide. “You wanted to see me like this, didn’t ya? Wanted to watch while you fuck me?”

Kent can’t stop himself from shivering. “I—fine, okay, I did. I already told you I think you’re hot, didn’t I?”

Bitty chuckles, looking self-satisfied. But then Kent leans over him, positions himself and presses the head of his dick to Bitty’s slick hole, and Bitty gasps.

“Want it?” Kent raises his eyebrow.

“You—you fucking tease,” Bitty says, groaning as Kent braces himself on one arm so he can push in, just the slightest bit.

“Tell me you want it,” Kent says.

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut. “Why?” he grits out.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

When Bitty opens his eyes again, he’s trembling. “Please. Fuck me. I want—I want you inside me, Kent, please— _oh, fuck, fuck—_ ”

Kent pushes in and cuts him off with a kiss, groaning into Bitty’s mouth, because fuck, Bitty’s hot and tight and Kent hasn’t done this is a really fucking long time—too long, not since he last picked up a guy in the club, and even then it didn’t feel like this _much_.

He pulls back and presses in again, slowly working up a rhythm, breath coming fast as he fights to hold himself steady over Bitty. Bitty lets go of one of his thighs so he can get a hand on his own dick, stroking in tandem with Kent’s thrusts and letting out unabashed little whimpers that drag Kent relentlessly closer to the edge

He doesn’t fall over it quite yet, but it’s a close call, especially when Bitty tenses around him and shudders out, “I’m clo-ose—oh God, oh God.” His hand speeds on his cock, and Kent shuts his eyes and tries his best to keep going, but his rhythm is breaking down, his movements more sporadic as pleasure pulses down his spine.

Kent lets out a frantic moan and comes just as Bitty clenches around him, sobbing out a wordless scream.

“Fuck—fuck,” Kent groans, grasping at Bitty’s hip, his shoulder, as they both shudder against each other, as Bitty pulls him up for a messy kiss.

It’s possibly the closest he’s felt to anyone in years.

All too soon, Kent gets too sensitive and has to pull out. He stretches out beside Bitty, exhausted, and stares blankly at the ceiling.

He expects the silence to stretch out next to them, wrapping them in some sort of cocoon so they can avoid at least some of the awkwardness, but Bitty breaks it, hitching a breath as he says, “I—hell. Wow.”

Kent looks over at him and waggles his eyebrows. “Glad you appreciate my skills.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Bitty grumbles. “That wasn’t all you.”

He’s right. It wasn’t. There was—something there, and Kent’s not sure what it is.

He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I guess you helped,” he allows.

Bitty kicks him in the calf. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to clean off.”

Kent points lazily in the direction of the door to the master bath. “Shower if you wanna.”

“Good,” Bitty says, climbing off the bed. “It’s your fault I’m all gross now.”

Kent lies there and tries his best not to think about anything as he listens to the shower turn on. Eventually, he gets up and walks naked through the hallway to the guest bathroom.

 

When he comes back, Bitty’s lying in the bed, hair wet and wearing the pair of boxers that Kent had taken off barely an hour ago. Kent’s not sure how to feel about that, so he doesn’t mention it, instead grabbing a new pair from his closet and pulling them on. Then he turns the light off and crawls back into bed.

Bitty doesn’t say anything, so Kent doesn’t either. Neither of them move to try and cuddle or anything, which twists Kent’s stomach a funny way—sure, he slept with Jack when they hated each other, but he never had to actually sleep beside him. It was never this awkward because they never had the time alone to _make_ it awkward.

He lets out a labored sigh as a thought occurs to him. “You're not gonna turn this into, like. A thing, right?” Kent mutters into the darkness of the room.

Bitty rolls over, presumably so he can hear better. “What do you mean, a _thing?_ ”

“You know. The whole, like, ‘fuck a guy once and now he's your soulmate’ type deal.”

“ _God_ no,” Bitty says, and Kent can tell even without being able to see him that he's pulling a face. “I still hate your damn guts, Parson.”

“Thank fuck,” Kent says, because he really has no idea what he would do if Bitty decided to fall in love with him or some shit like that.

Far back in the depths of his mind is the secret terror that he would like it far too much.

“Why’d you ask, anyway? You aren’t gonna start having feelings for me either, right?” Bitty rolls away again mid-sentence so that the second half of it is muffled, almost like he's hiding from his own voice.

And Kent gets it. The idea of having any sort of feelings for someone else is terrifying to him too.

“You will never, ever have to deal with me falling in love with you,” Kent tells him, turning to face the ceiling and closing his eyes. “’S not like I'm even capable of it anyway.”

“What the hell is that s’posed to mean?” Bitty’s voice is dripping with exhaustion, but Kent can hear the eye-roll from across the bed.

“Never mind. I'm just being melodramatic.” It's a word his mother sometimes used to describe him when he was having a temper tantrum. But then his entire adult life sometimes feels like a temper tantrum anyway, so really, when is he _not_ being melodramatic?

But Bitty, being the nosy shit that he is, decides to probe further. “You mean, since Jack, then.” It's not a question.

Kent’s lungs give a feeble squeeze in his chest, just for old times’ sake. “Sure, yeah, read into it however you want,” he says, but he maybe thinks that Bitty can see through his front of nonchalance.

If it was anyone but Bitty, that would be kind of refreshing.

As it is, Bitty doesn't even deign that worthy of a response, so Kent rolls so that he's facing away from him. He falls asleep trying and failing to not listen to the sound of Bitty’s breathing.

xXx

Kent wakes to an empty bed and the smell of eggs.

He throws on a t-shirt and pads into the kitchen to find Bitty dressed in last night’s clothes, standing at the stove. “Made yourself at home, huh?”

Bitty shrugs, using a spatula to divide the eggs onto two plates. “Figured you wouldn’t mind as long as I made some for you too.”

“What if I was planning on using those for something?” Kent protests, but he sits down at the kitchen table anyway. The chairs he has are the moderately-less-uncomfortable matching counterpart to the annoying bar stools, but Bitty still grimaces as he sits down.

“God, this chair is awful. And anyway, you weren’t gonna. They were a day past the expiration date anyway. Would’ve been a waste.”

That’s true enough, so Kent shuts up and eats his eggs.

They’re well-scrambled. Better than Kent can do, which makes him irrationally annoyed, but he’s not gonna complain about someone else cooking for him.

When they’re done eating, Bitty stands and makes a move to reach for their plates. Kent stops him. “Nah, leave ’em. Holly—the maid will do those.”

Bitty balks. “You have a _maid_ , and yet you don’t even have comfortable kitchen chairs?”

“Here you go with the furniture again,” Kent says, rolling his eyes as he stands as well. “I just really hate cleaning. I’m indifferent about the chairs.”

“Whatever. Not my house,” Bitty says, shrugging. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, thumbing through it and grimacing. “Forgot to charge… damn, it’s dying.”

“You gonna Uber?”

“Nah, I’ll walk. More expensive than it’s worth,” Bitty says, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Kent stares at him. “You do know it’s gonna take like, an hour for you to walk to any of the hotels around?”

“I’m not going to a hotel. I just gotta find Lardo. I texted her, she’ll let me know where she is,” Bitty says. “Anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“I can pay for your Uber,” Kent insists, already three steps toward the bedroom so he can grab his phone.

“No! No—don’t,” Bitty says crossly. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Then at least let me drive you. I don’t have practice til later.”

Bitty huffs a sigh. “Why do you even want to?”

“Why _don’t_ you want me to?” Kent counters.

Looking away, Bitty scowls. “I don’t want Lardo to know I’ve been with you.”

Kent groans. “Oh, does she hate me too?”

“No,” Bitty shoots out. “No—I just. I told her I was staying with friends. I don’t want her to worry.”

Slowly, Kent frowns at him. “Hang on—what are you even doing in Vegas, anyway? With no money, it looks like. Wait, don’t tell me you spent it all on gambling?”

“No, of course not,” Bitty says, glaring at him. “I just don’t have any to begin with. Now could you get your nose outta my business?”

Kent grits his teeth but decides to let it go. “Fine. But let me drive you. I can drop you off someplace discreet.” Bitty opens his mouth in response, looking like he’s about to say no, but Kent cuts him off. “I have a car charger. iPhone, right?”

Bitty lets his mouth click shut. Then he opens it again. “Fine.”

It turns out that Lardo is in some art museum across the city, which would have been at least a two hour walk, as Kent smugly informs Bitty. The drive wouldn’t have been bad at all—that is, if there wasn’t an accident blocking the highway two miles up.

So they sit there in stop-and-go traffic, the radio playing some pop station that Kent’s not sure either of them are listening to. And God, he really wants to let his curiosity get the best of him, but every time he looks over at Bitty, Bitty’s scowling.

Finally, Kent breaks. “What’s your problem?”

Bitty thunks his head back on the car seat, squeezing his eyes shut. “You really wanna know?”

“Well… yeah. I asked, didn’t I?”

Opening his eyes, Bitty stares at the ceiling of Kent’s Volvo. “My problem is that I’m unemployed and unhireable, and as soon as this vacation is over, I’m gonna have to move back in with my parents because I can’t afford to stay where all my friends are. That enough detail for you?”

Kent grimaces, because hell, that sucks. “Damn… That’s rough, buddy.”

Bitty doesn’t respond, so Kent is forced to awkwardly fill in the gap in conversation.

“But, uh—it’ll just be for a little while, right? Until you can get back on your feet?”

Bitty’s lips twist bitterly. He sighs. “Theoretically. But. The problem is there’s literally nothing in my town—the nearest city is half an hour away, and I hate driving. The only bakery in the area is owned by the family of the guy who bullied me all through high school. And ’sides, I dunno if I’ll be able to get hired for anything ’cept fast food at this rate.”

“Hang on. Bakery?” Kent asks, intrigued.

“I bake,” Bitty explains. “A lot, usually, except not recently because my butter fund has been kinda low—but. Anyway. I couldn’t get into grad school, and that’s basically my only employable skill, so.”

“And you couldn’t find a job by your college?” Kent asks, easing his foot off of the break so they can inch forward in traffic.

Bitty sighs. “That’s my fault. I wasn’t, um. Really focusing on finding a job as hard as I should’ve been? I thought I would have, um…”

“Jack,” Kent fills in quietly, and Bitty nods.

“Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat. “And then we—and then he broke up with me, and I couldn’t—think? I couldn’t do a lot of anything, but by then I’d been living at his place for months and I didn’t really have a place to stay, so. I’ve been bumming on Lardo’s couch.”

Kent thinks back to the time right after the draft when he wishes he could’ve done nothing, nothing at all. But instead he had to integrate with his new team, had to paste on a fake smile and a bro attitude and pretend that it wasn’t a big deal, he was fine, he could still play.

In a way, he’s jealous that Bitty at least didn’t have to mask his feelings.

“Lardo’s the one who suggested we vacation,” Bitty continues. “I can’t really afford to chip in for hotels, but I bought my own plane ticket, and—and I didn’t want her to have to pay for me, and I didn’t want her to worry either, so I told her that I could stay around with friends.”

“And have you been?” Kent asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“Well. Last night was my first night here, so. I guess not.”

“So you don’t really have any friends in town, do you?”

Shrugging, Bitty says, “No, not really.”

Slowly, a thought dawns on Kent. “Were you at that club trying to get picked up just so you could sleep somewhere?”

Bitty winces. “Maybe a little bit? I mean… I wanted to sleep with someone, but. Yeah. That too.”

Kent’s hands go tense on the steering wheel. He looks out the driver’s side window, at the view of the city from the highway, and gives a deep sigh, because of course.

That’s why Bitty fucking wanted to sleep with him.

Figures.

But—he can’t just _leave_ Bitty like this. It reminds him too much of high school, when his mom was dating that awful boyfriend and he’d do whatever he could to get out of his house for the night.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Look. I’m going on a roadie tomorrow night.”

“Um. Okay?” Bitty asks, sounding tentative, like he maybe knows what Kent is going to say but is too afraid to ask.

“What I mean is—I’ve got a spare key under the doormat. You can stay at mine for a while. After tonight, I’ll be on the east coast ’til Monday anyway.”

Bitty is silent for a moment. “I’d feel kinda like I was taking advantage.”

“Well, you hate me,” Kent points out, and a surprising jolt of emotion prickles under his skin. He forces himself to talk through it. “So it shouldn’t matter if you’re taking advantage of me, right? Anyway, I don’t feel right leaving you to fuck around without a place to stay.”

“I guess,” Bitty says, still looking uncomfortable.

“’Sides, this way I won’t need to hire a cat-sitter. You can feed her, right?”

“You have a cat? I didn’t see one,” Bitty says, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, she doesn’t like strangers very much,” Kent says, thinking privately that that’s a complete understatement. “She probably hid in her room the whole time you were there.”

Bitty snorts. “Your cat has a whole room to herself?”

Kent arches a brow at him. “What else am I supposed to do with all that space?”

“Point taken,” Bitty concedes. “I… I guess I will stay at your place, then. As long as I won’t be too in your way?”

“Nah. It’s chill.”

For the first time since they’d met in the club last night, Bitty gives him an actual smile. That’s more than enough of a win for Kent.

Miraculously, the traffic clears a few minutes later. Kent stops a block down from the art museum and unlocks the door. “Hey. Give me your number just in case, okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty says, unplugging his phone from the charger and navigating to the Add Contact screen. “Yours too?”

They switch phones. Kent, being himself, puts three heart emojis next to his name, along with a cat for good measure.

Bitty rolls his eyes upon seeing it. “I’m gonna delete that, you know.”

“Sure,” Kent says, watching Bitty as he opens the door and climbs out of the car.

“And—thanks,” Bitty says, looking away. “I kinda owe you, I guess.”

“No worries.” Kent shrugs it off. “Last night was nice.”

A strange look comes over Bitty’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “Nice.”

xXx

Kent realizes as he’s leaving practice later that day that he’d never found out when exactly Bitty’s planning on coming back. He debates on texting him, but decides against it—it’s not like he’s got plans tonight anyway, besides lounging around in his bed and watching tape.

He’s more than surprised when he opens his door around eight that night to see two faces instead of one.

The girl he’s pretty sure is called Lardo widens her eyes when she sees his face. “Bro—Kent Parson? Seriously? _That’s_ your friend in town?” she asks, turning to Bitty incredulously.

“Yep,” Bitty says, smiling, but the way he’s holding himself makes it look like he’s uncomfortable as hell. For good reason—he and Kent aren’t exactly friends, are they? “See, I’m fine,” he tells Lardo. “I don’t gotta come back with you.”

“All right. I’ll take your word for it,” Lardo says, sighing. “You’re taking care of him, right?” she directs at Kent.

“Yeah, of course,” Kent says, putting on a shit-eating grin and leaning over to thump Bitty on the back. “Me and Bitty are great pals. The bro-est of bros, ya know?”

Bitty just barely refrains from making a face, and Kent has to hold back a snicker at that.

“Okaaay, then,” Lardo says, giving them a weird look. “Anyway… Sorry for showing up on your doorstep. But, you know. Sometimes Bits needs watching out for.” She jabs a finger over at Bitty, who does make a face now.

“I completely understand,” Kent says, aiming a smile at Bitty that’s as fake-sincere as he can make it. Bitty rolls his eyes when Lardo looks away.

“Welp, have a good night, you guys!” Lardo says, turning and heading back down the hallway without another word. Bitty pushes past Kent into the apartment, and Kent shuts the door behind him, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry about that,” Bitty mutters. “Ever since the—well, the break-up, she’s been super worried about me. I prob’ly deserve it, but. She didn’t believe it when I said I had somewhere to go.”

Kent nods in understanding. His kid sister had been like that for a while, calling him weekly for years after the draft, after Jack’s overdose. He’s pretty sure she was terrified that Kent was in danger of going off the deep end himself. Which—he kind of was, but still.

“Anyway,” Bitty says, looking around the living room. Kent notices that he has a small backpack with him this time. He wonders where Bitty has the rest of his stuff stashed—maybe with Lardo. “Sorry it’s kinda early. I didn’t really feel like going out tonight.”

“’S fine,” Kent says, shrugging.

At that point, Bitty’s stomach rumbles, and his face goes pink. “Um…”

“Wanna order take-out?” Kent offers, heading over to the fridge and scanning the multitude of menus he has stuck on the front with various cat-shaped magnets.

“Naw, I don’t want you to have to—um. I think I saw enough ingredients to make a pizza when I was looking around for breakfast this morning?”

“Oh, you mean to make one?” Kent asks, surprised that he has anything like that lying around. He’s not much of a cook.

“Mhmm,” Bitty says, heading over to the cabinets. “You’ve got canned tomatoes… some spices… flour… I’m surprised you have yeast, actually. We’ll have to wait for the dough to rise, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Kent says, and then Bitty shoos him out of the way, so he goes to put food in Kit’s bowl and then retreats gratefully to his bedroom.

Now that he has Bitty in his house again, he’s not sure what to think of it. He still doesn’t like him… but.

But Kent really kind of thinks that’s hot.

Which is honestly pretty fucking annoying. Half the things Bitty’s said to him have made his temper spike, and yet when he looks at him now, all he can think about is how it felt to be inside him, to have Bitty beg for it, skin on skin and frantic whimpers and _God_ , his feelings would make so much more since if he didn’t have this insane attraction to this guy. Who he hates.

Well—maybe ‘strongly dislikes’ is a better descriptor, at this point.

He rolls over on top of the covers, grabbing his phone and scrolling through twitter, then Reddit, then tumblr when he gets bored of that, all the way until Bitty calls him for dinner.

xXx

The pizza is really good.

Kent can’t refrain from letting out a small moan of appreciation at the first bite. Bitty looks smug the whole time they’re eating.

After dinner, they sit on the (frankly uncomfortable) couch and watch TV until Bitty starts yawning, and Kent suggests going to bed. And—ugh. Shit. Now is the part where it gets awkward, because sure, Bitty could sleep in the guest bedroom, but. Does he want to? Does Kent even want him to want to?

“You’re making a weird face,” Bitty says as they walk down the hallway. Then he pushes past Kent into Kent’s room, and well, there’s that question answered.

He’s not expecting Bitty to immediately push him into the wall and kiss him.

It’s exhilarating, really, and oh, God, Bitty’s tugging at the waistband of Kent’s sweatpants—and Kent isn’t even all the way hard yet, but Bitty yanks his boxers down and kneels in front of him anyway—“ _Fuck_ ,” Kent groans, letting his head clunk back against the wall as Bitty sucks him down.

Bitty snickers around his dick, but keeps going, starting at a brutal pace that’s honestly making it hard for Kent to think.

“I’m—fuck, that’s good—c’mon, yeah, that’s— _oh_.”

But Bitty pulls off of him then, and Kent whines in protest.

“Would ya keep your mouth shut?” Bitty levels an eyebrow at him, and Kent bristles.

“Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Do you want me to blow you or not?” Bitty asks, leaning down to nip Kent’s thigh, hard. It—feels good, actually. “I can gag you,” Bitty offers, and _why the fuck is that sexy_ —

Bitty slides Kent’s dick into his mouth again, sucks him down, hot and slick and tight—and it’s only a few more blissful moments Kent comes, muffling his cries in his fist.

“Good,” Bitty says when he pulls off, patting Kent’s thigh. “See, you can be quiet if you try.”

Kent’s dick, despite being completely spent, twitches against his leg. “I—fuck…”

“Yeah? You like that?” Bitty stands, wiping his mouth before kissing him once, twice. “Want me to make you keep your mouth shut?”

Kent shivers, the kind of full-body shiver that shakes him to the core. Quietly, he says, “I—yes.”

He didn’t know he wanted this.

But when Bitty pushes down lightly on his shoulder, Kent obeys, fumbling with the zipper on Bitty’s jeans until Bitty takes pity on him and undoes it for him.

The heavy feeling of Bitty’s cock on Kent’s tongue is like a drug. He sucks him down farther, farther, and he doesn’t usually deep-throat but right now it feels like he can’t get enough—he’s already come but he still _wants_ , wants so much he can barely breathe.

“That’s it, honey, take it for me,” Bitty says, leaning with one arm against the wall above him, and the endearment makes Kent’s chest buzz in a way that’s strange but not entirely unwelcome.

When Bitty comes down his throat, Kent can feel every inch of Bitty’s dick pulsing, spilling inside of him, and Bitty’s not quite fucking him but it’s the same sort of sensation of being filled, being used—

Fuck.

Kent pulls off, gasping, sits back against the wall. He has to look away, has to squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t end up crying or some shit like that, because there’s so many feelings twisting around in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

He wants nothing more than for Bitty to walk away, to leave him alone with his thoughts.

But Bitty kneels down in front of him instead. “I—um. I’m sorry. Was that okay? I didn’t—I should’ve asked first.”

Kent shakes his head. Jack never bothered to ask first when he fucked Kent’s face, when he told him to keep quiet, when he touched Kent but kept him from coming until Kent was nearly sobbing with need.

They really were young and stupid then, weren’t they?

“’S’okay,” he says, still catching his breath. “Just—need a minute.”

And then Bitty sits next to him, tugging at Kent until he rests his head on Bitty’s shoulder, and, oh God—they’re not cuddling, but it’s close.

The warmth of Bitty’s body feels better than Kent expected it to.

He waits for the feelings of regret, of shame and disgust to come, but—they don’t. Something about the way Bitty’s drawing invisible spirals on Kent’s thigh pushes them away, and he’s left only with the remnants of all the built-up bad feelings, only uncertainty and exhaustion.

“Me ‘n’ Jack—we used to, um. Do stuff like that,” Bitty says quietly. “He’s the only person I’ve had sex with more than once, and it just—seemed so normal that I guess I just forgot it wasn’t.”

Nodding slowly, Kent forces himself to relax. “Yeah. We—Jack and I, I mean—we used to mess around like that too, but. I don’t think we knew what we were doing.”

Bitty squeezes his leg. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Kent lets a feeble laugh fall from his lips. “Next time?”

“I mean,” Bitty says, shrugging. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Kent squints at him. “I dunno—what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have let me stay here if we weren’t fucking,” Bitty says, and God, he’s serious, isn’t he?

“No—no,” Kent says, shaking his head. “I guess maybe the first time was like that, but—you didn’t _have_ to sleep with me tonight, fuck.”

Bitty bites his lip. “Oh, I thought—oh. Okay. I just. Thought you were implying earlier, that we would—be doing this again, but. Um. Sorry.”

“Not that I didn’t—y’know, _like_ it,” Kent backtracks quickly. “I just mean—don’t feel like you have to, okay? It’s really not a big deal, you staying here.”

Bitty sighs, looking away. “That’s what Lardo said too, but… I can tell when I’m being a burden. At least this way I feel like—I dunno.”

“Like what?” Kent probes, looking into his eyes with a seriousness he usually only saves for hockey.

“Like I’m—I dunno, worth something?” Bitty looks away, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. I’m only on vacation for a few more days anyway, so.”

Kent’s at a loss. Part of him wants to say that yeah, of course Bitty’s worth something—but isn’t Kent supposed to hate him?

He sighs. “Look—legit, I would have to hire a cat-sitter for the weekend if you weren’t around. The maid won’t go near her after an, uh, unfortunate incident, and she’s too picky to eat from one of those automatic feeder-thingies, so. It’s not like I’m not getting something out of this.”

Bitty looks back at him. “I—I guess that makes sense.”

“Anyway, uh. You shouldn’t ever feel like you have to have sex with someone. Consent and all,” Kent says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” Bitty says quietly.

Kent’s mind can’t help twisting back to that night, the night before Jack’s overdose, when Jack wouldn’t talk to him until they’d fucked, when Jack was drawing further and further away without reason and the only time Kent ever felt close to him was when they were having sex and Jack was deep inside him, looking him in the eyes as he came— _God_.

He cuts those thoughts off, letting them fall back into the deepest, darkest parts of his mind. Back where they belong.

When he turns to look at Bitty again, Bitty actually looks kind of happy.

“You know,” Bitty says, the smallest of smiles on his lips, “You’re occasionally not a terrible person.”

Kent chuckles. “Wow, a compliment! Sort of, I guess.”

Bitty gives him a wry look. “Don’t expect more where that came from,” he says, and stands. “I’m gonna go shower. You gonna be okay?”

“What—oh, yeah. I’m fine,” Kent says. He’d almost forgotten his own brief moment of panic. Somehow, Bitty had made him forget all about it, if only because Bitty’s misconceptions about what was happening here had driven his self-loathing away for another day.

“And Kent? I did this because I wanted to,” Bitty adds. “So don’t you worry about me not being okay with it, or anything like that.”

Kent nods. “Okay.”

He watches Bitty walk into the bathroom before he stands, making his way over to the bed.

xXx

Kent’s on the roadie for two nights, during which they win one game and lose another. When he walks into his apartment at six o’clock Monday evening, there’s no sign of Bitty. However, there is a lemon meringue pie chilling in the fridge, so he cuts himself a slice—it is his fridge after all, so why not? Then he takes a seat on his couch, flicking on the TV. He’s gratified to see when he looks at the side-table that Bitty had apparently taken the cash Kent left him for taxi fares.

He hears the doorknob turning sometime around ten.

And then Bitty walks in, looking like he’s been crying.

Kent sits up. “Hey—are you okay?”

Shaking his head mutely, Bitty turns down the hallway toward the guest bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Kent’s stomach turns, but there’s no use going after him, so he tries his best to get reabsorbed in his TV show.

Some time later, Bitty comes back out, eyes still puffy. He goes to the kitchen, gets a glass of water, and comes back to sit on the opposite side of the couch from Kent. Kent looks him over—he looks okay besides the tearstains and the long scratch on his arm that means he’s definitely met Kit. But Kent doesn’t get the chance to bring up the cat-scratch, because then Bitty opens his mouth and flips Kent’s world upside-down.

“Jack called,” Bitty says without preamble.

Kent tries to look a lot less invested than he is. “Oh?”

“He said he wanted—he wanted me back. He said he’s been thinking about me— _God_ ,” Bitty says, and buries his face in his hands. “I was crying in the back of the fucking Uber. Which—don’t think I’m not gonna pay you back for that, by the way.”

Kent’s mouth goes very, very dry. “You don’t have to do that, seriously. Anyway, I—um. What did you tell him? Jack, I mean?”

“I said I’d think about it,” Bitty says, shrugging listlessly. “And—fuck, what _choice_ do I have? I have to leave tomorrow night, and—and he’d give me a place to stay, you know he would. I just—I don’t wanna go back to Georgia! I don’t wanna go back to hiding who I am every fucking time I talk to someone, and I love my parents but I don’t wanna _live_ with them again—I’m gonna be in Madison ’til I die, aren’t I?” Tears are starting to slip down his cheeks, and Kent’s hands involuntarily clench into fists at his sides.

He says the words before he’s even really thought about them. “Just stay here.”

Slowly, Bitty raises his head, his lip trembling. “Don’t—don’t joke around like that.”

“I’m not joking,” Kent says. In front of them, the TV plays a badly timed laugh track, and Kent groans internally, picking up the remote and shutting it off. “Seriously, I’m barely ever here. Why d’you think my furniture’s so uncomfortable? I’m always at the rink, or doing publicity stuff, or playing games, and when it’s the off-season I’m usually off visiting my mom and sis. There’s more than enough room for a roommate.”

Bitty opens his mouth and lets it close it again. “Is this—is this some sort of weird jealousy, or—?”

Kent frowns at him. “What do you mean? Over Jack? No, of course not, fuck. I haven’t actively wanted to date him since the last time I came to visit your school, you know. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

Bitty bites his lip. “I wasn’t talking about over Jack.”

Oh.

 _God_.

Slowly, Kent shakes his head. “Bitty—I already told you there was no way I was gonna have any sort of feelings for you. Literally, we’ve fucked twice, and—and I don’t even know if I _like_ you. I just—” He stops, sighs, because some sort of pain is pulsing in his chest and he’s not sure why. “It’s not really fun to watch someone else go through the same kinda pain you’ve been through yourself, you know? And I guess I don’t know a lot about how you guys were together, but I know Zi—I know Jack, and sometime he just gets so focused on hockey that he can’t really be present to like. _Fix_ things. You know?”

Bitty bursts into tears.

Kent stares at him, moderately horrified because, again, he doesn’t know what to do with crying—but he reaches over and pats Bitty’s knee just in case that helps.

“That’s—that’s exactly it, I—God, I’m such an _idiot_ ,” Bitty sobs.

“If you are, then I definitely am,” Kent murmurs in a way that he hopes is vaguely comforting. “It’s not like he’s a bad guy. He just—sometimes he doesn’t really think about what other people are going through.”

Bitty sniffles loudly. “He—he wouldn’t come out. I was gonna tell my parents, even, but when I talked to him about it he said he couldn’t be the first person out in the league—he didn’t even _think_ about it. And it’s not like someone else is gonna come out just like that! I could’ve been waitin’ literal years, and I just. I kept pushing him about it, and then he said that it wasn’t w-working, and, and—God, what am I supposed to do?”

Kent bites his lip. “I can’t tell you what you should decide, but. For the record, I’m serious about—about you living here. You can even pay rent once you get a job, if you wanna.”

Bitty sighs, wiping at his face. “I—I’ll think about it.” Kent leans over and grabs a couple tissues, handing them to him, and Bitty smiles weakly. “Sorry, I know we’re not, like, friends or anything, this is probably really weird and uncomfortable, so—sorry.”

Kent shrugs. “I guess it is a little weird, but. We’ve seen each other naked, haven’t me? That should at least count for something.”

Bitty laughs wetly. “I’ll take it,” he says, wiping at his face with the tissue. “I—I can make dinner? If you’re hungry. I, um, see you found the pie? I didn’t know what kind you liked, or if you even like pie at all, so I just picked one, but I know some people are weird about graham cracker crust and—”

Kent swallows down his pride and interrupts him. “It was good.”

“Oh. Really?” Bitty stares at him wide-eyed.

“Yeah. Really good. I didn’t even think I liked meringue.”

“Oh, well then,” Bitty says, looking faintly embarrassed. “I, um. Eat as much as you want, then?”

“I will,” Kent says, and tries for a smile.

For once, it works.

xXx

But the next morning, Bitty knocks on the door to Kent’s room, face somber.

Kent’s heart sinks.

Bitty crosses his arms around himself. “I’m sorry. I—I still love him. I… can’t say no,” he says, and Kent knows then that there’s no way he’s going to be able to save him.

He swallows down a sudden lump of helplessness because he knows how it feels to be irrevocably in love with Jack Zimmermann, knows it to the marrow of his bones and the core of his soul, knows just how damn _good_ it feels—and how gut-wrenchingly awful it feels to be left behind.

He reaches for his keys. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”

xXx

They don’t go to the airport straight away. They meet Lardo at some artsy café and sandwich place that boasts drinks that are both caffeinated and boozy, and Kent feels like a third wheel to their conversation even though Bitty had promised him it wouldn’t be awkward. But he sips his mocha and chocolate liqueur milkshake and listens to them reminisce about old Samwell Men’s Hockey stories.

It’s interesting to see Bitty like this. He’s different when Kent’s not the only person he’s around, brighter and more enthusiastic and rambly in a way that manages to be endearing instead of annoying. Maybe the change is partly because Bitty’s been briefly distracted from his Jack-induced stress, but Kent thinks it’s mostly because he’s forgotten Kent’s there.

And Kent’s annoyed and a little hurt to realize that he _likes_ this Bitty. This is the person Bitty never bothers to be around Kent because he’s not happy enough, doesn’t care enough to let himself go like this.

When Kent clears his throat and says, “Doesn’t your flight leave in a couple hours?” Bitty looks surprised.

“Oh,” he says, “I guess you’re right.”

“Aw, shoot, I lost track of time,” Lardo mutters, checking her phone. “We should be okay, but we really need to get going if we’re gonna make it.”

“Want a lift?” Kent asks, picking up his keys and jingling them from one finger.

“Sure, that’d be awesome, actually,” Lardo says, and flashes him a smile.

Bitty, too, eyes him with a smile, but it’s a sad one. Kent wonders if he’s going to be okay.

Either way, in a few short hours Kent will have nothing to do with it.

xXx

Bitty hugs him at the airport.

It’s surprisingly warm, and Kent’s caught off-guard. He only has time to give Bitty a little pat on the back before Bitty pulls away.

Kent stands there on the curb and watches Bitty and Lardo walk off through one of many sets of sliding glass doors.

It’s only when he’s driving home that he realizes that for some reason, he wanted this to end differently—he wanted Bitty to stay.

Fuck.

xXx

Kent’s sitting on the couch that evening, staring at the wall, when his phone lets out an unexpected ring. He knows before he even goes to pick it up that it’s Bitty.

It seems like a nice gesture that Bitty’s at least bothering to let him know that he’d made it there safely.

“Hey,” Kent says.

For a moment, it’s silent.

Then Kent hears a sniffle on the other end of the line, and his heart does a strange, painful flip. “Bitty? Are you okay?”

Bitty laughs hotly. “No—I. I did somethin’ real stupid.”

Kent frowns. “What do you mean? Where are you?”

“At—at Jack’s. Or. On his porch, I guess? He—oh _God_ , what do I _do_?”

The helplessness rising in Kent’s throat is reaching the tipping point, so he stands and starts pacing for lack of anything better to do. “Hey, slow down. What happened?”

Bitty doesn’t speak for almost a minute. When he does, it comes out as a whisper. “I told Jack that we slept together.”

Time stops.

Kent takes two short, fast breaths. “You did _what?_ ”

“I didn’t think about it—about it bein’ a secret or anything. I always told Jack everything! But—but he said he needed some time to think or whatever, but I don’t _have_ time, and his face—he looked like… like he didn’t want anything to do with me. God, it’s all fucked up now…”

Shame forces Kent to clench his jaw. He shuts his eyes. “Sorry I ruined it for you.”

Bitty only sniffles in response.

Kent stops pacing and stands in front of the window, staring out into the dimness of twilight. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” His voice comes out hard.

Bitty lets out a sob. “I—kinda, y-yeah.”

Kent’s heart sinks in his chest.

He’d expected that answer, but. He hadn’t known just how much he’d wanted Bitty to answer differently.

“It’s—it’s so _easy_ , just cuz I spent so much time not likin’ you, and if we just hadn’t—I dunno what I was doing, and now it’s all fucked up and I—I just. I could go back to Lardo’s but I don’t want her to keep worryin’, and Jack—he slammed the door on me, Kent. I can’t. I can’t go back.”

Kent kind of wants to throw up. Which, to be fair, is almost always how he feels when Jack is concerned, but this is almost worse because now someone _else_ is hurting because of him. “I’ll give you money for a hotel if you want it.”

There’s a pause in the sound of Bitty’s tears. “God, I couldn’t accept that.”

“I mean, this is my fault, right?” Kent says, because of course it is, he’d known that from the beginning.

It doesn’t make it any less painful.

“It’s not _all_ your f-fault.” Bitty’s voice is smaller than Kent’s ever heard it.

He shuts his eyes. “Easier to blame me than it is to blame you, isn’t it? You’ll have a hard time getting over it otherwise.” That’s a truth that’s been burned into his skull at this point.

“I—I don’t know, I just. I c-can’t think right now.”

Kent opens his eyes, turning away from the window. “I’ll give you money for the hotel.”

xXx

Bitty:  
_Thanks for everything._

Kent:  
_is that sarcasm or?_

Bitty:  
_No!  
I mean it. My head’s clearer this morning._

Kent:  
_oh, that’s good_

Bitty:  
_Sorry for what I said earlier.  
I’m not mad at you anymore. I shouldn’t have been mad in the first place._

Kent:  
_no worries. someone’s always mad at me somewhere ya know_

There’s a long pause in the otherwise instantaneous chain of their messages, because it’s just Kent’s luck that his joke would fall flat. His stomach keeps churning just as it had been last night, round and round until he feels dizzy.

He types something and then deletes it about three times, because Bitty’s not going to want to say yes. Of _course_ he isn’t. There’s no reason for him to.

But the reckless streak in Kent’s bones forces him to do it anyways. Besides, then at least he’ll know.

He’ll know just how pathetic his chances are, even just of being fucking friends with Bitty, God.

Kent:  
_i know you’re not gonna say yes, but. my offer from earlier still stands_

Bitty:  
_What do you mean?_  
_Oh, are you talking about living with you?_

Kent:  
_yeah._

The typing symbol appears, then goes away several times, and Kent curbs the impulse to bang his head against the wall.

Finally, his phone buzzes.

Bitty:  
_I’m sorry. I really don’t know right now._

Kent’s heartbeat stutters, and he quickly types a response.

Kent:  
_just letting ya know the option’s open_

He hopes it sounds casual enough because fuck, he doesn’t want Bitty to think he’s _too_ serious about this—like, actually, what the hell is he doing? There’s no way in hell that a logistical mess like having Bitty move in with him would be a good idea.

And they don’t even like each other anyway.

Well.

Bitty doesn’t like Kent, at least.

Kent is—God. Kent is still so attracted to him that it makes his throat go all tight to think about.

It says a whole fucking lot about the extent of his attraction that he’s not even jealous thinking about how Bitty dated _Jack_ , Kent’s Jack, the one he couldn’t let go of for like a third of his entire life. He’s the ex who will always be the one that got away, the one who helped Kent pull off the most perfect combos he’s ever been a part of on the ice—the one who looked at Kent like he absolutely adored him every time they scored. Both figuratively and literally, as it were.

Okay. He’s maybe a tiny, tiny bit jealous.

He just won’t think about them fucking.

Except now he is kind of thinking about them fucking, because he knows how both of them sound, how both of them _taste_ , God—and yeah, that’s enough to make the good ole’ Jack jealousy come roaring to life, so he shoves that thought back into the box it came from and glues it tightly shut.

He realizes just how zoned out he was when he looks down at his phone and has two new messages from Bitty.

Bitty:  
_Thanks though  
Really. I mean it._

Kent kind of wants to send back a smiley face or something stupid and sappy like that, but that’s completely unnecessary, so he sends _no problem_ and turns his phone screen off.

He has practice to think about.

He has no room in his head for the fact that he never had a chance with Bitty, even to just be his friend. It was stupid to think that could even be an option—stupid to _want_ it, really, because when’s the last time he cared about fucking someone enough to actually want to hang out with them?

xXx

Kent gets another call from Bitty right as he’s leaving practice, and hell, there’s the tightness in his throat again. He could swear his heart rate picked up the second he saw Bitty’s name on the call.

He needs to get over this stupid crush before it drags him completely into the deep end, never to return.

Kent picks up the phone, sitting on one of the benches outside of the rink. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Bitty. He’s back to speaking with the unaffected sort of tone he usually uses with Kent. Kent finds himself wishing that Bitty would talk to him in the same chirpy, upbeat way he does with Lardo, like maybe he’s actually happy to be talking to Kent, but. That’s just a pipe dream.

“What’s up?” Kent asks, privately thinking that Bitty’s probably just calling to renew his hotel room or something.

“I’m back at Lardo’s,” Bitty says, and oh, that’s kind of a surprise. “But—I told her I wouldn’t be here for long.”

“Oh,” Kent says, feeling the slow seep of disappointment leaking into his bones. “So I guess—you and Jack made up, then?”

Bitty sighs. “No. We… we haven’t spoken.”

Kent blinks. “Oh! Uh, shit, sorry. So—wait. You’re not going home, are you? To Georgia?”

“I… um,” Bitty says, and he sounds uncomfortable now. “I sorta thought. Well. I talked to my parents about, like, job opportunities and stuff, and how there isn’t a lot of them back in Madison, and… they seemed to think it was a good idea to—you know. Expand my horizons or whatever. So anyway. You said your option was still open, right?”

 _Oh_.

Kent lets out a startled laugh. “Shit—yeah, yeah, of course. I just—I didn’t expect it, I guess. You seemed pretty, uh. Set on getting back with Jack.”

“I’m not going back to him,” Bitty says, sounding fierce. Which, woah.

“Wow, okay,” Kent says. “Good for you, man. I mean. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. But, uh, what changed your mind?”

Bitty snorts. “Nosy,” he says, but he continues on anyway. “Any boy who’s gonna raise a fit about where I put my dick while I’m unattached is probably not the boy for me. Sure, you’re his ex, but he told me he got over you a long time ago, and he wouldn’t even listen when I said there weren’t feelings involved. It was just—too much one-sided anger, I guess.”

“Makes sense.” Kent’s mouth feels kind of dry, partially because _shit_ , that ‘got over you a long time ago’ line stings like a fucking hornet—but so does the ‘there weren’t feelings involved’ bit, if he’s going to be completely honest. And partially because now he’s thinking about Bitty’s dick. Which he might even be able to touch again if he can stay on Bitty’s good side.

Or maybe if gets on his bad side, Bitty will shut him up, just like before.

 _Fuck_.

God, this is fucked up. But he really, really wants to touch Bitty again, any way Bitty will give it to him.

The whole ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ thing is fucking rude, and Kent thinks it should get banned from play, or at the very least given a two minute penalty. Because he doesn’t _want_ to want Bitty, but now he does. And there’s nothing he can do about it.

“So, anyway, um. There’s just. God, I hate asking for stuff,” Bitty grumbles. “It makes me feel so—ugh.”

“If it’s money, you can have it,” Kent says blithely.

Bitty laughs, still nervous but sounding less timid than before. “Isn’t that how you start getting money stolen? You shouldn’t go around sayin’ that to people.”

“Doesn’t it kinda make a difference that we’ve slept together?”

“Well, it ain’t smart to go around telling that to everyone you sleep with either, you know.”

Kent laughs. Strangely, he feels more relaxed now. Content, even. “I don’t say that to _everyone_ I sleep with.”

“So I’m special, huh?” Bitty says lightly.

Kent’s so glad they’re not face-to-face right now, because God, his face feels so red. “I guess.”

“Oh? How come?” Bitty asks, and Kent can’t tell if he’s flirting because he actually _wants_ to flirt with Kent or if it’s just because he wants to get in Kent’s pants. Really, he never realized there was such a difference until right this moment.

Then again, maybe it’s neither. Maybe he’s not flirting at all.

“Because—I mean, you’re Jack’s ex.”

Bitty goes silent. And fuck, could Kent have said anything _more_ awkward? “Right,” Bitty says finally.

Kent kind of has the urge to go collapse in a ditch somewhere, but instead he clears his throat. “Uh. What did you need money for, anyway?”

“It’s, um. I don’t think I can afford another ticket out west.”

“I’ll cover it, no problem,” Kent says immediately. “Just message me a time and date and we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, and Kent can hear the relief in his voice.

xXx

Kent’s really fucking nervous, to be honest.

He doesn’t really know _why_ he’s feeling so nervous, because it’s not like Bitty hasn’t been in his house before, but to have him actually living there—it’s different.

Which is why he’s pacing around and obsessively cleaning things even though Holly already went through and tidied up this morning. He stoops down and wrinkles his nose as he finds another wisp of Kit’s fur in the corner, heading to the trash can to throw it out. And where is Kit, anyway? She’s been gone ever since Bitty called, which at best is a bad omen and at worst means she and Bitty got in some sort of massive altercation—which isn’t so unlikely based on the cat scratch on Bitty’s arm.

The front doorknob turns. Kent freezes, then immediately tries to act casual, smoothing out his cowlick and walking over to the kitchen bar to pick up his water glass. Which, fuck, is empty, and he feels kind of awkward holding it, but before he can put it down Bitty walks into the kitchen.

“Uh. Hi,” Kent says, putting the water glass back on the bar as discreetly as he can.

“Hey,” Bitty says. He’s got a backpack on his back, but there’s no other luggage in sight.

“That’s not all you brought with you, is it?” Kent says, scrunching his eyebrows.

“Nah, I left a couple suitcases in the entryway. I just, um.” Bitty scratches his arm, looking nervous. “Are you really sure this is okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kent says, leaning his elbows on the corner of the bar.

“Even if, um—” Bitty starts, then clears his throat, looking away.

Kent’s breath sticks in his throat. “Even if what?”

Bitty sighs and looks him in the eye. “Even if I think we should stop sleeping together?”

Fuck.

That’s kind of what Kent was afraid of, to be honest.

But… still. He can’t just come out and say that he doesn’t _want_ to stop—that’s Bitty’s choice. And Kent really doesn’t want Bitty to know how attached he’s gotten, not at all.

“Of course,” he repeats, tearing his eyes away from Bitty, hoping he can hide just how much he wanted this. “I told you. That’s not why I’m letting you stay here, okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty says, and gives him a small smile. He turns back to the entryway. “Am I still in the guest room?”

xXx

They watch TV after Bitty’s unpacked most of his things. Dinner’s in the oven, a frozen lasagna that Kent really hopes isn’t freezer burnt for how long he’s had it, and it almost feels domestic the way they’re sitting there on the couch together, drinking glasses of Kent’s favorite wine and idly chatting about Cupcake Wars.

“No, don’t fight!—ugh, I hate when they get all snippy with each other,” Bitty grumbles at the TV screen. “That’s not how you’re gonna get your cupcakes finished!”

Kent chuckles. “Think you could do better?”

“I’m not much of a cupcake man myself,” Bitty says, shrugging and taking a sip of his wine. “That being said—yeah, I think I could.” He grins at Kent, and Kent snorts.

“Speaking of baking,” Kent says, swallowing down the sudden bit of nervousness that’s sprinkling into his gut. “I hope you don’t mind, but, uh. I mentioned you’re looking for work to one of my teammates—Troy, if you know him—and he said his wife runs a bakery near the rink. So I sorta, um, asked him to see if she’s looking for help, if that’s okay?”

Bitty sits up, looking cautiously excited. “I—oh, of course that’s okay! What did she say?”

Kent lets out a breath of relief—he was worried Bitty would think he was meddling. But this is okay. More than okay.

“You’ve, uh, got an interview sometime this week if you want it?”

A grin spreads onto Bitty’s face, slow and warm like syrup. “Yes! I mean—wow, Kent, thank you! Really.”

“No problem,” Kent says, and means it. He smiles at Bitty, pleasantly tingly from the alcohol and feeling satisfied because he’s actually managed to _do_ something for Bitty, something to help him.

Something to make Bitty maybe want to keep Kent in his life, because God, Kent wants to be close to him, closer than he’d even realized he’d wanted.

Then all at once Kent and Bitty are staring at each other, suspended in the crackle of tension that’s suddenly filling the air. There’s something new between them, something fuzzy and warm, drawing them together and making Kent’s throat stick, making him want so, so much, fuck.

Bitty locks eyes with him. Slowly, he leans forward, and—

And hugs him, warm and firm.

“Thank you,” Bitty says again, as he pulls away.

“Yeah, anytime,” Kent says, but he has to turn away because fuck. _Fuck_. The miserable feeling of rejection hits him like the fully loaded team van.

He thought Bitty was going to kiss him. But he didn’t.

And really, Kent has no right to feel rejected—Bitty _said_ he didn’t want to sleep with him, after all.

But he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much in practice.

xXx

Kent tosses and turns all night, thinking about how Bitty’s lying right down the hallway, trying in vain to untangle the thick mess of feelings beneath his ribcage. It’s slow going, every new thought pulling out several more until he’s swimming in them all.

He needs to start from the beginning.

Is he attracted to Bitty? Yes. He’s known that for a long time now.

Does he like to be around Bitty? Probably, if tonight was anything to go by.

Does he want Bitty to want him so much it hurts?

Yeah. Unfortunately.

Which, he realizes with a small spark of burning shame igniting in his chest, is exactly how he used to feel about Jack.

Goddamnit.

Just once, he wishes that he could get crushes on people he had some sort of fucking chance with.

But it seems like this is how it’s going to be.

The worst part is that he can’t even be angry at Bitty anymore, because Bitty’s barely even insulted the furniture since he’s gotten here. Kent knows he’s probably just being on his best behavior—and really, even if he wasn’t, it’s not like Kent would kick him out—not unless he did something actually terrible, that is. But it’s been nice, hanging out with Bitty without feeling like he’s about to walk across hot coals. Drinking together. Laughing.

Kissing. But there won’t be any more of that.

But—this is still kind of what he wanted, isn’t it? To be friends.

Just friends.

Kent thinks he can be okay with that. Has to, really.

Bitty’s already turned him down after all.

xXx

“I hate this couch,” Bitty tells Kent, but he has something like a fond smirk on his face. He’s still wearing his interview clothes from earlier today, when he’d gone to talk with Swoops’ wife, Elizabeth. He’d come back with a packet of employment paperwork and a beaming smile on his face. They’d bought pizza to celebrate.

“Buy a new one, then,” Kent says, rolling his eyes and pushing the pizza box closer to Bitty when he reaches for it. Thank goodness it’s cheat day.

Bitty gives him a look, grabbing another slice of pepperoni. “You know I can’t afford that.”

“Use mine then,” Kent says, shrugging. “Hell, redecorate the whole place if you wanna. Just don’t go too crazy.”

“Really?” Bitty squints at him.

“Yeah, sure. If it’ll make you happy,” Kent says, leaning forward to put his plate on the coffee table.

He almost misses the look of surprise on Bitty’s face.

“What?” he asks.

“Aww, you do care,” Bitty says, his expression softening. He balances it out by leaning over and punching Kent on the shoulder. “That’s nice of ya.”

“Sure,” Kent says, rubbing at his arm, his stomach giving a reluctant flutter as Bitty grins at him. “You’re probably gonna be here more than I am, anyway. It’s only practical,” he deflects. God.

Bitty bites his lip. “I’ll look for a new couch, at least. I don’t wanna—take advantage.”

“You’re not,” Kent tells him honestly. “Look, I bought my kid sister a car for her birthday. I donate more money than you’ve probably made in a year to charity. Seriously. Redecorate. And find me a bedside table while you’re at it.”

Bitty takes a bite of his pizza and smiles. “Well, all right. I promise you you’re gonna have a very nice apartment when I’m done with it, Mr. Parson.”

Kent laughs. “I’m looking forward to it. At least then I won’t have to hear you complaining all the time.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “It’s for your own good,” he says, and then before Kent can object, he leans over and swipes the last breadstick.

“Hey!”

xXx

Somehow, even though Bitty had shown Kent all of the purchases for his approval before Kent put his card number in, Kent really had no notion of the sheer number of boxes that were going to be at his apartment when he returns from his latest roadie.

They’re _everywhere_. Which is kind of fun to see, but he mostly expected Bitty would have gotten more of it set up by now.

“Bitty?” he calls out, dropping his bag off in the living room. The couch is different, still leather but softer and in a cozier dark brown. Bitty ordered that first, Kent knows, and had donated the old one to Goodwill when the new one came. But it doesn’t look like anything else has been opened, not even the small pile of boxes in the kitchen that Kent knows are for the various cooking implements Kent spied Bitty eyeing online earlier.

_“Buy them. You know you wanna.”_

_“Kent! I can’t do that.”_

_“Sure you can. Here.”_

_“Ugh, stop—I’m just gonna take them back out of the cart, you know.”_

_“But what if_ I _want a super fancy, uh. Food mixer-upper-thingymajig?”_

_“Kent…”_

It’s quiet for a moment, as Kent smiles a little, thinking of how reluctantly pleased Bitty had been.

It was—cute.

But then the door to Bitty’s room opens, startling Kent out of his memory. Bitty shuffles out into the living room, and he’s wiped his face off but Kent can tell from the red around his eyes that he’s been crying.

“What’s up?” Kent asks softly. Bitty shakes his head, walking over and thumping down on the couch. Kent can see that he’s got another cat scratch, this time on his leg. “Oh, shit, did Kit get you again? I’m so sorry—I’ll have to talk to her.”

Bitty waves a hand in dismissal. “No! It’s not Kit. She’s—sweet. It’s my fault, I stepped on her. I—can we just watch TV?”

Kent stops halfway on the way to Kit’s room. No one has ever described his cat as sweet besides Kent himself, but he’ll give Bitty the benefit of the doubt. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Sorry about—all this,” Bitty says, waving a hand at all the boxes that are piled up everywhere. “I just haven’t really had a lot of time to set stuff up. Work and everything.”

“It’s not a problem,” Kent says, letting it slide even though he can tell something’s wrong. “What do you want to watch?”

xXx

Bitty lightens as the evening goes on. They cook dinner together, Bitty breaking open a box that holds what looks like a overhyped grater in Kent’s opinion but that Bitty seems to be really excited about.

“It’s a Mandoline,” Bitty explains. He then proceeds to use it to slice vegetables for ratatouille, a dish that Kent never actually knew the contents of but that he’s very glad doesn’t somehow have rat meat incorporated into it.

It’s easy enough to hand Bitty the vegetables he needs and to rinse the larger dishes off when he’s done with them, and they settle into a rhythm that’s almost fun, Bitty humming snippets of Beyoncé until Kent whips out his phone and hooks it up to the speakers so they can listen to the entirety of Lemonade.

They chat about Bitty’s new job over dinner. Bitty positively glows when he talks about his daily schedule, and Kent’s never felt more satisfied, watching Bitty wave his hands around as he illustrates a story he’s telling about his coworkers.

Kent doesn’t ever want to stop looking at him.

He’s so fucked.

Later, after they’ve eaten, Bitty catches Kent staring at him, at the way the freckles on Bitty’s face shift when he smiles and the easy way he’s sitting on Kent’s couch, no tension to be found. It’s so different than even just a few weeks ago, when Bitty had just moved in.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Bitty asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing,” Kent says quickly, tearing his eyes away.

He’d stared at Bitty for basically the entirety of dinner, and even with all that, he still can’t seem to make himself stop. Except now Bitty’s noticed, and the game is up.

“Is there something on my face?” Bitty asks him, picking up his phone to look at himself through the camera. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s nothing, I said.” Kent shakes his head, leaning over to grab the remote as the show they’re watching starts rolling the credits.

Next to him, he feels Bitty shift. “Kent,” Bitty says, and when Kent turns to look at him again he’s a lot closer—fuck.

Slowly, Bitty takes the remote from him, pressing the power button to turn off the TV and setting it aside.

“Ye-ah?” Kent’s voice cracks.

Bitty leans closer, reaches up and smooths Kent’s cowlick away from his face. The touch of Bitty’s fingers burns on Kent’s skin, and he leans into it without thinking, his face heating as a shudder runs down his back.

And—this can’t be what he’s thinking. But Bitty’s leaning closer, eyes wide—

Kent’s going to fucking die if Bitty just hugs him again.

But Bitty doesn’t. Instead, Bitty tilts his head, leans in close enough that Kent can feel their breath intermingle—and then Bitty kisses him.

_God._

Kent moans softly, which is embarrassing enough in itself, but Bitty chuckles against his lips and Kent almost wants to pull away. Almost. But he leans into Bitty instead, deepening the kiss until Bitty licks into his mouth, pulling closer still, slipping a warm hand onto Kent’s thigh.

God—“Wait,” Kent says, pulling away, breath coming fast. He’s hard already. “I… I thought you said you didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Bitty bites his lip. “I lied. I just—” he cuts off, a somber expression sliding onto his face. “Make me forget about him, Kent. Please?”

Something not entirely pleasant twists in Kent’s stomach, but Bitty still has his hand on Kent’s thigh, his other hand resting on Kent’s arm. And really, since when has Kent been the best at making choices? “You sure?” he asks, reaching up to smooth his knuckle over Bitty’s cheek.

“Yes,” Bitty says, no hesitation lingering in his tone. “I—I need this.”

‘I need this.’ Not ‘I need _you_ ’—and that hurts so much more than Kent wants it to.

But that’s okay.

If this is what Kent’s allowed to have, then he’ll take it.

“Okay,” Kent says, and pulls Bitty to the bedroom.

They get undressed slower than Kent expects, and Kent’s surprised to see that Bitty’s actually smiling at him, even laughing softly when Kent accidentally bumps their noses together while they’re kissing. They crawl into bed, stark naked, and Bitty runs a hand down Kent’s chest, pushing him to sit up against the pillows. “Mm. You gonna be good for me tonight?”

Kent’s dick throbs. “Yes,” he says, his voice rusty with want.

“Good,” Bitty says, sliding his hand down to Kent’s thigh. “You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

Kent swallows. “Yeah. Or—” he starts, then looks away, swallowing hard because he hasn’t done _that_ in forever, but—but.

He trusts Bitty.

He really does.

He doesn’t know exactly when that happened. He thinks it was somewhere between hearing Bitty sob on the phone weeks ago and leaning comfortably over Bitty’s shoulder, looking at furniture on his laptop and laughing together at the weird ads that popped up on the sidebar, somewhere between cooking dinner and laying on the couch, talking over a TV show that neither of them are watching.

“Or?” Bitty prompts, squeezing at Kent’s thigh, and Kent _wants_.

“Fuck me,” Kent says, spreading his legs slightly so there’s no confusion. He wants this.

Bitty’s eyes widen. “Oh—I. God.”

“What?” Kent asks, fighting the urge to recoil. He’s fucked this up now, hasn’t he?

Bitty seems to sense his discomfort, because he slides a soothing hand up and down Kent’s arm. “It’s just—I’ve never, um, done that before? Jack said he didn’t like how it felt, so we just. Never tried And it’s fine! I’m just not, um. Experienced.”

A seed of guilt pretty much fucking explodes in Kent’s chest. “Fuck,” he groans, crossing his arms around himself. “That’s… probably my fault.”

Bitty sits back on his heels, toying with the bottle of lube that’s lying beside him. “What do you mean?”

“We—we tried it once. It, um, didn’t go well,” Kent says, sighing against the thick feeling in his throat. It doesn’t make it feel any better, because—ugh.

‘Didn’t go well’ is an understatement. It was awful. They got all the way to having Kent try and push in, and then he’d gone too fast on accident and Jack had a panic attack and everything went to shit. By the end of it they were both in tears, Jack because he was panicking and Kent because he didn’t know how to make Jack _okay_ , and both of them had long since gone soft.

They didn’t try again after that.

“Sorry,” Kent says, feeling suddenly vulnerable naked in front of Bitty like he is, both physically and because he knows Bitty knows so fucking much about him just by knowing he slept with Jack.

Fuck. He feels shaky. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

It’s probably because he wanted it so much. Nothing he ever really truly wants ends up being good for him, does it? Hockey. Jack.

And now Bitty.

“Hey, honey. It’s all right,” Bitty tells him, leaning forward and pulling him into a hug. “I’m not so sure that’s your fault, okay? And at any rate, even if it is—I like bottoming just fine. You didn’t mess anything up for me, if that’s what you’re worrying about. And Jack is okay, too.”

Kent swallows back the rush of emotion that wants to flood out of his mouth. He presses his face into Bitty’s neck, God, and it feels so warm that he doesn’t want to let go.

 _I like you so much_ , he thinks, tears pricking at his eyes. He blinks them away.

 _Fuck_.

He can’t say it, even as he pulls his head back and whispers, “Fuck me, Bitty,” even as Bitty gives him a breathless smile and a chaste kiss.

And then the moment’s lost. Bitty picks up the lube and slicks his fingers, and just that action alone makes Kent’s flagging erection spring up again, makes him buck his hips helplessly as Bitty wraps his free hand around Kent’s cock, strokes him once, twice before letting go. He motions for Kent to spread his legs wider, and Kent does, feeling heady with need, with emotion, with more damn wanting than he’s felt since Jack Zimmermann was last in his arms.

 _I like you, I like you_ , Kent thinks. It spirals around his brain, over and over again as Bitty looks up at him and smiles, and God, it hurts so much to actually be thinking those words.

He’s so fucked.

Both literally and figuratively, as it were.

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong, okay?” Bitty says, shifting so he can ghost his slick fingers over Kent’s entrance. It makes Kent jump, and he nods wordlessly, his eyes glued to Bitty’s face, to the way Bitty’s tongue peeps out of the corner of his mouth as he leans down and presses the tip of his finger into Kent.

God, that burns a little—he hasn’t done this in so fucking long. He lets out a long breath as Bitty slowly fucks his finger into him, trying his best not to squirm, and slowly he relaxes enough that he lets a moan of pleasure slip out when Bitty adds a second finger. “Good?” Bitty asks him, and Kent nods breathlessly.

“I want you,” Kent says, and that at least he can say.

“Patience,” Bitty murmurs, eyes laughing when Kent pouts at him. “You really do want it, don’t ya?”

Kent squirms. “I already told you that,” he says, groaning as Bitty presses in further. “Fuck.”

“That okay?” Bitty asks, eyebrows briefly knitting together.

“Yeah, you’re good. You can— _fuck,_ yeah—you can add another,” he says, and then he has to clutch at the sheets because Bitty’s just managed to curl his fingers into Kent’s prostate, and then he does it _again_ and Kent’s dying, he’s literally dying—“ _Please_.”

“Please what?” Bitty asks, a poorly concealed smirk on his lips.

Kent looks him in the eyes, gasping, letting his guard down as much as he can because fuck, he wants Bitty to see what he’s doing to him, to see just how fucking much Kent’s coming undone. “Please,” he says, in almost a whisper, “Please fuck me.”

Bitty’s eyelids flutter, and he licks his lips, pulling his fingers away—and Kent feels so empty that he aches. “How do you want it?” Bitty asks, and his accent is coming through now stronger than ever.

It’s so hot.

Everything about Bitty is hot.

“I—anything,” Kent says, shivering as Bitty picks up the lube, slicking himself quickly. “Whatever’s easiest for you.”

“Um, okay,” Bitty says. “On your hands and knees?”

Kent nods, pushing himself up so he can roll over. He’s a little disappointed that Bitty doesn’t want to be closer to him, to look him in the eyes while they fuck.

But there’s no reason for Bitty to want that. They’re not in love.

They’re barely even lovers.

He feels Bitty’s hands sliding over his ass, spreading him open, and Kent exhales a long shaky breath as he feels the tip of Bitty’s cock nudging at his entrance. He wants it in him so much that it burns, God, he wants to be filled, for Bitty to slam into him until he can’t think.

And then Bitty pushes in, and Kent whimpers because fuck that burns—but it’s also everything he wanted, a searing pleasure that sends a throb of pleasure to his dick.

He reaches up to stroke himself as Bitty pulls back, then pushes in again, further this time, over and over until he bottoms out. And then Bitty shifts—and starts slamming into him, hard.

Kent lets out a broken gasp—“ _Fuck_ , yes, keep going, fuck,” a litany of moans that makes Bitty chuckle above him.

“Still can’t— _oh_ —keep quiet, can ya?” Bitty asks, and Kent can hear the exertion in his breath.

“I just—I can’t stop, please, yes,” Kent babbles, and Bitty chuckles again before letting out a low moan.

“Lord, you’re so hot,” Bitty mumbles.

Kent feels an involuntary shudder ripple through his spine and knows that he’s close. “I’m gonna—” he starts, and doesn’t get a chance to finish because then Bitty speeds up, bucking into him in a way that brushes his prostate and—“ _Fuck!_ Fucking—God, Bitty, that’s so—I’m—”

Kent comes.

He spurts hot over the sheets, clenching and groaning, and all at once Bitty’s thrusts start becoming erratic. “ _Nngh_ ,” Bitty whimpers, and that’s all he says before Kent feels the warmth of Bitty spilling inside him, making Kent’s cock twitch even though he’s just come.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s it, baby, _oh_ ,” Kent presses back against him, rides him through it, reveling in the way Bitty’s all but collapsing on top of him.

Finally, Bitty manages to pull himself back up, sliding out of Kent. The emptiness makes Kent want to whimper, but he refrains, instead rolling to the side so he can avoid the wet spot in the sheets.

“Fuck,” Kent says, sighing.

“You got that right,” Bitty appraises, slumping back against the pillows. “I didn’t—wow. I never knew…”

“Hmm?” Kent turns his head to look at him.

“That felt so—God, just. Amazing.” Bitty closes his eyes, but instead of looking happy, he just looks tired.

“You okay?” Kent asks him, a burning thickness lodging in his throat.

Bitty is quiet, but he squeezes his eyes even tighter shut and shakes his head.

Kent reaches over and nudges his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

When Bitty opens his eyes again, he looks up and stares at the ceiling, a few tears starting to slip down his cheeks. “I wish it had been Jack.”

Fuck.

Of course he does.

“Yeah,” Kent says, feeling kind of like his chest is cracking open.

“Sorry,” Bitty says. He doesn’t sound sorry.

“You’re fine,” Kent tells him, and now he’s the one shutting his eyes. “That’s just how it is.”

Bitty shudders a sob. “It’s just—I _love_ him, Kent. I’m so mad at him and I’m hurt but I love him, and I don’t—how do I deal with that? It’s so _unfair!_ ”

Kent can’t stop himself from laughing hotly. “You think?”

Bitty freezes. “I—oh. Oh, God…”

“Sorry,” Kent spits out. “Sorry, I’m just. Bitter.”

Letting out a teary sigh, Bitty shifts closer, wrinkling his nose in a way that makes Kent feel sure he’s accidentally sitting on the wet spot. But he doesn’t mention it, instead curling into Kent, resting a hand on his chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kent says, shrugging.

“No, I was shitty to you. I just—I never thought about how you were feelin’ about him, when I was angry at you before. And now I know, I guess.”

Kent swallows, then slowly, he lets himself relax into Bitty’s touch. “It’s okay. I should’ve been over it a long time ago, anyway.”

“But you’re not, are you? Not all the way?” Bitty asks, brow creasing in concern.

Kent’s half a second away from opening his mouth and saying ‘ _well, now I am_ ’ before he realizes how that sounds.

It sounds like he’s falling in love with Bitty.

Which. He’s _not_.

He can’t be.

He clears his throat against the sudden feeling of tightness and licks his lips. “It gets easier every day.”

It’s a truth. Not the whole truth, but something.

“Thank the Lord,” Bitty says, heaving a sigh.

It’s silent then, and Kent lets himself feel comforted for just a little moment. It’s nice to be touching Bitty like this. He wants it more than he can bear.

Too soon, though, he feels the need to push Bitty away, so he sits up and stretches. Bitty’s hand falls away from his chest. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job at making you forget about him,” Kent says, and Bitty lets out a small laugh.

“It’s okay. Just takes time, prob’ly.”

Kent nods, sliding off the bed to clean off.

He hadn’t managed to make Bitty forget about Jack. But it seems like Bitty’s made Kent forget about Jack just a little too much.

xXx

“Kent?” Bitty says, hunched over in Kent’s bed the next morning.

“Yeah?”

“We… shouldn’t do this anymore. It—it’s too much, right now.”

Kent sucks in a breath and nods, because as much as his heart hurts to agree, as much as he’s tempted to just keep going on this wreck of a roller coaster—it kind of _is_ too much.

It’s getting dangerous to be so close to Bitty, to be with him all the time like this, to be kissing, fucking him.

To be pretending he feels absolutely nothing.

“Okay,” he says.

Bitty gives him a feeble smile. “Don’t let me seduce you again, okay?”

Kent’s heart pangs in his chest. His voice goes rusty when he opens his mouth again. “Okay.”

xXx

“Fuck, where’d the wrench go?” Kent mutters. It’s kind of a rhetorical question, but then Bitty nudges him on the shoulder, wrench in hand.

“It was behind you,” Bitty says, flashing him a smile, and Kent feels his frustration melting just a little.

“Thanks,” he says, reaching for the next piece of hardware for one of the new bar stools. Bitty had insisted on building all the furniture themselves, even though Kent is sure he could have hired someone to do the same. He’d been fairly annoyed about it all the way until they’d finished the first piece—a new coffee table, the only thing Kent picked himself. It’s a light brown wood with a graceful pattern on the legs, one that reminds him of skating in tight swirls around the ice.

It kind of feels nice to do something for himself.

“Here’s the last piece,” Bitty says, handing him the top part of the chair, and Kent takes it and starts trying to figure out exactly where the screws go.

 

By the time they’ve finished most of the living room furniture, they’ve taken three breaks and Kent’s just about as sweaty as he is after a long game. Bitty goes and pulls them both beers out of the fridge, and they clink them together in a miniature toast, Kent feeling warm and satisfied.

Bitty’s smiling, the early evening sun filtering in through the blinds. He fits right in here with the style of the new furniture—soft and cozy, more like a home than Kent’s ever had.

But Kent’s not sure if that’s because of the furniture or because of Bitty.

 _God_.

It’s Kent’s favorite beer, but as he takes his first swig, all he can taste is the longing.

xXx

“Thank fuck it’s warm in here,” Kent says, mostly to himself, as he shivers and closes the door behind him. It’s the coldest day he’s seen in Vegas for a while, and it’s even worse seeing as he’s just returned from playing the Stars, where it’d been at least ten degrees warmer.

“Welcome home!” Bitty says, voice muffled, which probably means he’s in the kitchen.

Kent toes off his shoes, setting his bag down in the entryway and shucking his coat. He hangs it up on the hooks Bitty installed on the wall just for that purpose, breathing in the warm smells of cooking and Bitty and home.

Bitty pads out of the kitchen, holding a spatula. “I saw that hat trick, Mr. Parson.”

“Did you now?” Kent asks him, grinning despite himself.

“That last goal was slick, ya know. I might even be proud of you,” Bitty tells him, shrugging. “And maybe I even made steak for dinner. With those potatoes you like.”

Kent lets out a laugh. “God,” he says, “What would I do without you?”

“I dunno. Suffer?” Bitty tosses out, turning back to the kitchen.

“Probably,” Kent says. It’s soft enough that he doesn’t think Bitty hears it.

As it is, he’s already suffering, every time he looks at Bitty and remembers that Bitty doesn’t want him. Worse, Bitty is all he can think about when he’s not playing hockey, and sometimes even then. He’s dealt with these obsessive feelings before, years ago with Jack Zimmermann—but that doesn’t make them any easier to handle.

They eat dinner and watch the Schooners play against the Leafs. It’s really nice to watch games with someone who both actually knows what they’re talking about and also doesn’t happen to be one of Kent’s teammates—there’s no pressure to catch every little detail in their conversation, only pure appreciation for the sport.

“You ever think about playing again?” Kent asks Bitty. “You were captain your senior year, right?”

Bitty shrugs, swallowing his bite of potatoes. “I wouldn’t say no to a pick-up game, but I don’t think I could ever go pro or anything like that. It’s nice not to be on such a tight schedule with games and practice all the time, you know?”

“Lucky,” Kent says. “It’s a shame, though. You could totally have men fawning all over you.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “I doubt it.”

“You know I think you’re hot,” Kent says, raising an eyebrow, his heart rate spiking in his chest.

Shaking his head, Bitty leans forward to set his mostly empty plate on the coffee table. “Even if they were fawning all over me, I think we both know I’m not fit for a relationship right now.”

“No?” Kent probes, spearing his last bit of steak with his fork and praying he doesn’t seem as interested as he feels.

“I mean, I’m still hung up on my—on Jack,” Bitty says, leaning back against the couch. “It wouldn’t be fair to whoever I was dating.”

Kent’s skin burns. “I get that,” he says, even though he doesn’t, not really. He wouldn’t care if it was fair, if only he was able to be with Bitty—but that’s not his choice to make.

Fuck. He hates this.

“Um. Did I say something wrong?” Bitty asks, and Kent’s head shoots up.

“What? No, you’re fine,” he says, stacking his plate and utensils with Bitty’s on the table.

“You kind of looked like ya wanted to kill something,” Bitty points out. “I—if you don’t want me to talk about Jack, I can stop, okay?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Kent says honestly. Not anymore.

“If you’re sure,” Bitty tells him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ironically, Kent’s throat goes painfully tight at that. But he shakes his head. “It’s fine. You should be able to talk about him if you want to, anyway. He’s your ex too.”

Bitty smiles. “You’re a good friend, Kent.”

Kent’s heart flips in his chest, and he can’t stop himself from leaning over and giving Bitty a one-armed hug. “You too,” he murmurs.

Before he knows it, Bitty’s caught him, wrapping him up in a full embrace, warm and tender. “I’m glad I met you,” Bitty whispers, and Kent’s stomach flips, over and over and over.

“Yeah,” he says, and sighs.

“Hey, Kent?” Bitty says, pulling back with an odd, questing look in his eyes.

“Hmm?”

Kent isn’t anywhere near prepared for what comes next.

Because Bitty bites his lip and asks, “Can I… kiss you?”

Kent’s jaw drops open.

 _God_.

He shivers, a slow, heated ache burning all the way down to his fingertips. But he can’t say no, not to Bitty. He wants it too damn much.

He licks his lips. “Yeah.”

Bitty’s breath is warm when he leans forward and presses his mouth to Kent’s, and Kent sighs through his nose, letting the kiss deepen, letting Bitty slip his tongue in. They kiss until Kent has to pull away to breathe, and then he gently moves Bitty’s hands from where they’ve slid around Kent’s neck.

“Sorry—just. I… You said I wasn’t allowed to seduce you again,” Kent says, even though he really wishes he could just forget that, could let this go on forever.

“Oh,” Bitty says, then laughs a little ruefully. “I—I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Kent says. His voice cracks a little. He really hopes Bitty doesn’t hear it.

Bitty sighs, then leans forward and presses a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “You really are a good friend,” he says, before getting up and walking down the hallway and into his room.

The door clicks shut behind him. Kent lets himself slump down face-down on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut, reliving every moment of the kiss.

Because chances are, that was the last one.

xXx

The Aces play the Falconers tomorrow. Kent’s stomach is twisting all over the place as he packs for the roadie, making him queasy.

“Hey, um. Please don’t tell him I’m living here?” Bitty says from Kent’s doorway.

Kent looks up in surprise. This is the first time Bitty’s gone anywhere near his room since the last time they’d fucked. “Yeah, sure. Doubt he’ll want to talk to me anyway.”

Bitty nods slowly. “I packed you a sandwich for—for just whenever you get hungry, okay? And some snacks. And, um, brownies for the team.”

Kent laughs. Bitty tends to cook up a storm when he’s nervous.

It’s one of the many stupid little things that have charmed Kent completely, that have him falling basically head over heels.

It sucks.

But he can still think it’s cute. “Thanks, Bits,” he says, leaning down to zip up his bag.

“And Kent?” Bitty says, waiting until Kent looks up to continue. “I’m rooting for you.”

Kent smiles all the way to the car.

xXx

It’s a long, brutal game. The Aces win in overtime, but no one’s really happy about it, not after a fight that caused three penalties and a bloody nose.

PR is over fairly fast, thank fuck. Kent just wants to go home.

There had been a single moment where Kent and Jack were scrambling together for the puck on the ice. Kent could feel Jack looking at him, trying to catch his attention, but Kent didn’t bite.

He had better things to worry about. Like winning the game.

It’s not until afterwards that Jack manages to corner him in the hallway. Most of the guys have already left. Troy hangs behind in support, looking questioningly at Kent, but Kent waves him on.

“Hi,” Jack says. He looks weary, dark circles under his eyes, and Kent feels a twinge of guilt.

He shouldn’t be guilty. It’s not his fault Bitty left Jack.

“Need something?” Kent asks, keeping his tone as polite as he can.

Jack sighs. “You—you wouldn’t happen to know where Bitty is, would you?”

So there’s no sugar-coating this, then. Jack’s not even going to pretend that he doesn’t know about Kent and Bitty.

“It’s not my place to say,” Kent says simply, and turns to go back to team shuttle.

“Wait—” Jack catches him by the wrist, and Kent stops and turns. “Please. I—I don’t know what to do without him.

Kent swallows down the mix of bile and despair that’s rising in his throat. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have let him go.”

He does leave then, heading out the back door of the stadium and climbing onto the bus with everyone else. He can’t stop himself from feeling bad, but he can at least stop himself from thinking about it, so he does.

The bus starts up, and he closes his eyes and thinks of Bitty.

xXx

“You talked to Jack,” Bitty says, eyes hard as he walks in the door and unbuttons his coat. He still has his work apron on.

Kent sits up from where he was lounging on the couch. “Wait, what happened? I didn’t tell him where you were, promise.”

Bitty stalks around, abandoning his outer layers in various places around the entryway. “He’s been trying to call me ever since last night. And texting. And messaging on twitter. Which, like. I didn’t even know he knew _how_ to message on twitter. What the hell did you say to him?” He comes over and leans on the back of the couch, giving an exasperated sigh.

Shit. Kent hadn’t meant to make this harder for him. “Not much. Just—he was saying that he was sad you were gone, or something. And I told him that maybe he shouldn’t have left.”

Bitty lets out a groan, slumping over so that he’s bent over the back of the couch. “I should answer him, shouldn’t I?”

Kent swallows. “I dunno. Do you want to?”

Bitty looks up at him, his expression tinged with exhaustion. “I shouldn’t want to. But… I do.”

Kent sighs, nods. “Are you—are you gonna get back together with him?”

He wants him to say no, like before.

Instead Bitty is silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says finally. Then he straightens and pulls his phone out of his pocket, heading to his room and shutting the door.

God. Kent can imagine them together again simply by closing his eyes. He knows what that would look like, Bitty running to Jack with tears in his eyes, Jack sweeping him off his feet. They could be happy together, maybe, if Jack could finally figure out how to balance hockey with everything else.

And Bitty still loves him.

Kent’s chest burns. Slowly, he stands, walking down the hallway until he reaches Kit’s door. He opens it. She’s nowhere to be found, but that’s nothing unusual, and he sits on one of the cushions on the floor, leaning against the wall. Then he waits.

Eventually, Kit creeps out from one of her hiding places just as he knew she would, strutting over and butting her head against him. “Hey, kitty,” he says, keeping very still as she deigns to crawl on top of him and curl up in his lap. She’s skittish, which comes off most of the time as aggressive, since she scratches at anyone who makes a threatening move toward her. But Kent loves her just the same, ever since he found her in a dumpster behind the rink years ago.

He carefully moves his arm to pet her back, and she swipes at him lazily, yawning. She’s not so scared of him anymore, though strangers are always a different story. “We’re not so different, you and me, huh girl?”

Kit sneezes delicately in his face, and he laughs.

xXx

Kent doesn’t see Bitty again until the next evening, as Bitty leaves for his morning shift before Kent’s even awake. When he does see Bitty, it’s only a glimpse of him—Bitty walks into his room and closes his door the moment Kent steps into the apartment.

So. Bitty’s avoiding him, then.

Kent sighs, then goes and stares aimlessly at his fridge until he remembers that food doesn’t just materialize when Bitty’s not around. He groans, then suddenly remembers that Bitty froze a bunch of leftovers last week when Kent was on a roadie, and suddenly he feels better.

He reheats some pasta sauce and boils a small pot of spaghetti on the stove. Except he accidentally burns himself on the steam from the noodles, then drops the pan in the sink, and—“Fuck!” he swears, because half the noodles have slipped down the drain.

Bitty’s door opens. “Um,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Kent spits out, “Does it look like it?”

Bitty recoils. “Well fine, I was just askin’. You didn’t need to snap at me,” he says, a sour expression on his face. Then he turns and goes back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck,” Kent mutters. He makes sure the stove is off before he walks down the hallway, knocking lightly on Bitty’s door. “Bitty, I’m sorry,” he says through the wood.

He stands there waiting for long enough that he starts to feel like an idiot. He’s just about to leave when Bitty opens the door, expression shuttered. “We need to talk,” Bitty says quietly.

Kent’s chest seizes. “Sure,” he says carefully, and then Bitty pushes past him and goes to sit on the couch.

“Come here,” Bitty says when Kent doesn’t move, so Kent sighs and obliges, dragging himself woodenly over to the couch.

He’s not sure what Bitty’s going to say, but he gets the feeling it’s going to hurt.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, cobwebs thick on his tongue.

Bitty crosses his arms over himself and looks Kent in the eyes. “I—I need to ask you something.”

“All right, shoot,” Kent tells him.

Bitty gives a long sigh. “Kent… Are you in love with me?”

 _Fuck_.

Kent nearly flinches.

“No,” he says impulsively, but his hands want to shake, and somewhere deep down he realizes that he might be lying.

Bitty keeps staring at him, gaze piercing, breaking Kent open, down to his core. He wishes he could hide just like Kit does in her room, squeeze himself into a small corner so that he wouldn’t have to answer.

“Are you sure?” Bitty asks, and Kent nods numbly.

Because—even if he _is_ in love with Bitty, and he’s not even sure about that—he can’t date him. That would be insane, for one, and it would fuck up his relationship with Jack even worse than it already is, and—and Bitty doesn’t _want_ to date anyone. He’s already said that.

“Why do you ask?” Kent says. If anything, he needs to know what gave him away.

“Because Jack seems to think so,” Bitty mumbles, finally looking away. “He said there was something in your expression—I dunno. Sorry for asking.”

Kent shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says, and he’s burning to know what Bitty and Jack talked about but he’s not sure if he should pry.

“Just so you know,” Bitty says, “I don’t—I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Kent says, cuts him off so he doesn’t have to hear the words from Bitty’s mouth.

“I’d probably have to move out,” Bitty says, biting his lip. “I couldn’t take advantage of you like that if you—you know. Had feelings or something.”

“I don’t,” Kent says quickly. Almost too quickly.

But Bitty doesn’t notice. “Okay,” he says, and gives him a small smile. “I… you should know that told Jack I’m not getting back together with him. For good this time. I’m—I have plans with some guys from the bakery this weekend, and I have the job and everything. A life, you know? I’m happy here.”

Kent smiles back. “Good. Vegas is fuckin’ awesome, you know.”

Bitty rolls his eyes, snorting. “You only say that because your team’s here.”

“We’ve got great bars. And, you know, all of the casinos,” Kent points out, an eyebrow raised.

“Fair,” Bitty concedes.

Kent picks up the TV remote, fiddling with it. “I think—I think it’s probably good. That you’re not getting back with him, I mean. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my ex. I—I think you deserve better.”

“Thanks,” Bitty says. “And, um—right back at you, you know?”

Kent’s heart pulses in his chest. “Thanks,” he says softly. Bitty looks over at him then, staring at him without saying anything for long enough that Kent feels himself flushing. “What?”

“If you seriously don’t have feelings for me—um. Lord. Never mind.”

“Wait, what were you going to say?” Kent asks, his hand clenching around the remote.

Bitty goes bright red. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something,” Kent counters. “Just say it. It’ll be fine.”

Laughing self-consciously, Bitty sighs. “Okay. It’s just… I’ve been really, um. Frustrated, lately.”

Kent frowns. “Like, at me?”

“Oh! Oh, no, I’m not mad at you,” Bitty says, and somehow he gets even redder. “I meant. Sexually.”

Kent stares at him. “Oh.” _Oh_. He honestly hadn’t been expecting that.

“And I know I told you not to let me seduce you anymore, but—I mean, we’ve done it before, and if neither of us feels anything then it’s fine, right? If you want to! We really don’t have to, I was just thinking that it was really good before and—”

Kent leans over and kisses him.

Which is a really terrible fucking decision. But he does it anyway.

“—Mmph. Is that… mm… a yes?” Bitty asks, and this close Kent can see that the flush is spreading down Bitty’s neck, all the way down to his collarbones.

“Yeah. Course,” Kent says. “I mean. You know I think you’re hot.”

“And that’s all?” Bitty asks.

Kent steels himself and nods. “We could like, pretend we didn’t know each other or something. If that would make you feel better.”

If that would convince him not to leave.

“Oh! Hmm. That might—be better? Just for our friendship?” Bitty says tentatively.

“Fine with me,” Kent says, shrugging.

Even though it isn’t.

But it’s time to get very good at lying with his body, and what better way to do it than this?

As it is, he’s not even sure himself whether he’d wanted Bitty to say yes or no. But at least this way he can pretend like the best of them, so he leaves his heart on the couch with the TV remote and pulls Bitty into his room.

They fuck like strangers. Bitty doesn’t even look at him when he comes.

xXx

Kent wakes in the morning to the feeling of a hand on his cock. “Nngh,” he groans, bucking up into the touch without thinking about it.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Bitty says. Then he sits up and pushes the blankets down and away, sliding down Kent’s body to take Kent into his mouth.

“ _Fu-uck_ ,” Kent moans, taken by surprise, but Bitty sits up and shushes him.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet. I think the maid’s here. You wouldn’t want her to hear you, would ya, Kent?”

Kent shivers. “I—I thought we were acting like we didn’t know each other.”

Bitty shrugs, leaning down to ghost his breath over the tip of Kent’s dick. “This is more fun.”

Well, fuck. There goes Kent’s plan.

But he’s not going to deny that he’s enjoying this a whole lot fucking more than last night. Bitty pins Kent to the bed as best as he can by sitting on his thighs, bending over to suck him down, soft and hot and slick, and it’s so, so good—except he’s going too slowly.

“ _Please_ ,” Kent whispers, trying in vain to press his hips up, to get the friction he needs so desperately.

“Nuh-uh.” Bitty pulls away, panting, and shakes his head. “Patience.”

“Fuck,” Kent groans softly, thunking his head back against the pillows.

And so he lets Bitty have his way with him, lets Bitty lick and suck at him so slowly that he aches with how much he needs release, fuck, fuck—

“I just need—fa-aster,” he chokes out.

Bitty sits up, climbing off of him, and Kent groans in frustration. “Not yet,” Bitty says, grinning, a teasing spark in his eye. “Here, spread your legs.”

Kent does so, eyes wandering over Bitty’s body, still naked and lightly tanned in the morning sunlight as Bitty leans down and presses a finger into him. Kent jolts, still a little slick from last night—and then Bitty rubs against his prostate and he has to stuff his fist into his mouth to avoid crying out. “ _Nngh!_ ”

“There we go,” Bitty murmurs, and finally, finally, he sucks Kent down again, faster this time.

It’s barely half a minute before Kent’s spilling into his mouth. “ _God_ , Bitty,” he moans, shuddering through it.

Bitty sits up, grinning fiercely at him. “Now wasn’t it better that you waited, Mr. Parson?”

Kent rolls his eyes. “Fuck you,” he says good-naturedly.

“I just did,” Bitty shoots back, sliding off the bed. “Gonna go shower.”

“Wait a minute and I’ll join you,” Kent says, flicking his eyes down to where Bitty’s visibly hard.

Bitty flushes. “Okay,” he says, walking into the bathroom. Kent hears him turn on the faucet, taking a minute to wonder just when Bitty had started blushing so much.

He’s three-thousand percent sure that this is going end up completely fucked up. But he thinks of Bitty’s face, smiling at him, at _Kent_ , thinks of Bitty moaning as he presses into Kent, and God, Kent wants him too fucking much to stop this mess.

Bitty’s already soaped himself up by the time Kent steps into the water. “Took ya long enough.”

“Well, _someone_ tired me out.”

“Oh?” Bitty raises an eyebrow. “I’m jealous. Wish someone would do that for me.”

Kent snorts. “Turn around,” he says. Bitty looks surprised but obeys, and when Kent presses lightly on his back, Bitty leans over, the water spilling around him.

Kent’s never been so glad that he’d had them put in the weird squishy tub floor material when he moved in, as he drops to his knees, spreading Bitty open and making sure the soap has been rinsed away. “Jack ever do this to you?”

“Oh my _God_ , you’re not seriously gonna—ohmigod, fuck, _fuck_ —”

“So that’s a no, then?” Kent grins, nipping lightly at Bitty’s ass before bringing his tongue back to Bitty’s hole, swirling it around, getting him as slick as he can before he presses the tip of his tongue inside.

“Fuck, Kent, fuck!” Bitty says, and Kent’s pleased. He’s never heard him swear this much during sex before.

He takes his time as he works Bitty open with his tongue, reaching around occasionally so he can tug at Bitty’s dick. Bitty’s squirming, shaking as Kent slips his tongue in over and over, and every now and then Bitty lets out a garbled moan that has Kent hardening again before too long.

“Nngh— _fuck_ , Kent Parson, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to kick you out of this shower,” Bitty threatens.

Kent pulls away and laughs. “What, I can’t tease you?” he asks.

Bitty only glares at him over his shoulder, and Kent chuckles again.

He’s glad he thought to bring the lube with him when he came into the bathroom. He grabs it now from the side of the tub, pulling Bitty a little further out of the spray of the water and slicking up his fingers, pressing them in one at a time as Bitty clenches around him. “You’re so tight,” he says, almost a groan as he marvels at how hot Bitty feels on his fingers.

“We haven’t—nngh, done this in a while,” Bitty points out. “Anyway, I’m ready.”

“But—” Kent tries, smirking, pressing his fingers to Bitty’s prostate.

“ _Ohh_ —Kent, _fuck me,_ ” Bitty pleads, looking at him over his shoulder, and his expression is so desperate that Kent obligingly pulls his fingers out, standing and shaking out his legs.

He turns them so that Bitty’s against the opposite wall from the shower spray, thankful that they’re not too dissimilar in height as he lines himself up. Then he presses in, letting out a shaky breath, because fuck, fuck, this is good.

“Thank _God_ ,” Bitty groans, pressing back against Kent. “I’m gonna touch myself, so you better go fast if you wanna— _oh_ , fuck,” he cuts off as Kent starts off with a frantic pace.

“That was the plan,” Kent mumbles against Bitty’s shoulder, turning and nipping at the skin there as he grips Bitty’s hips harder, God.

Then he lets himself go, holding Bitty close and thinking only of the man in front of him and how fucking good his feels.

“I’m so close,” Bitty tells him all too soon, and Kent would chirp him about already needing to come, except he’s pretty close himself and he’s not sure he wants to admit it. He hasn’t been this randy since he was a teenager, fooling around in the backseat of a car with Jack Zimmermann.

But he doesn’t need to be thinking about Jack right now. Instead he focuses on Bitty, who’s whimpering unabashedly, leaning on one arm against the shower wall, the other hand jerking at his cock in time with Kent’s hips.

God, he’s hot.

“Oh— _oh_ ,” Bitty moans, and then he clenches impossibly tight around Kent, shuddering with a wordless cry as he comes.

Kent follows soon after, pressing his face into Bitty’s shoulder to muffle his groan, clinging to him for as long as he can stand. Fuck—it feels so good to have Bitty in his arms.

He holds him for as long as he can justify. When at last he pulls away, he feels unbearably cold, despite the warm spray of the shower they’re standing in.

xXx

They fuck a lot.

Kent’s probably never had this much sex in his life. Not that he’s complaining, except that every single time he comes undone at Bitty’s touch means that he’s falling deeper and deeper into the hole he’s dug for himself.

_I’m not in love with Bitty. I’m not in love with Bitty._

He recites it like a mantra in his head as he falls asleep each night.

Before he knows it, months have passed. Bitty seems happier than ever, with his friends and his job and the no-strings-attached sex with Kent. And their friendship, of course. That’s most of what keeps Kent going these days, the fact that Bitty seems to actually like him now.

Bitty’s happy.

Kent should be happy too.

xXx

Kent paces back and forth across the living room floor, huffing his displeasure. They’d just lost the first game of the play-offs on home turf. He _knows_ that it’s nowhere near the end for them, that this doesn’t imply some sort of bad omen, but. It still really sucks.

“Kent, honey, are you okay?” Bitty asks from where he’s perched on one of the new bar stools.

Kent freezes. Bitty never calls him that except during sex.

But—it’s fine. They’re friends. Bitty can call him what he wants to.

Really, more than anything, he wants to hug Bitty right now, wants to crawl into bed with him and lay his head on Bitty’s chest and fall asleep like that.

Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets and says, “Yeah, I’m fine. Wanna fuck?”

xXx

They lose the play-offs.

Kent takes the loss harder than he has in years. He wanted to be able to come home to Bitty with the Stanley Cup in his hand, actually wanted to show off a little for once in his life.

Instead he comes home with nothing but a sea of newfound free time.

“Hey,” Bitty says, sitting up on the couch as Kent walks in. “Good job out there. You guys put up a good fight.”

“Thanks,” Kent says, smiling a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have you eaten?” Bitty asks him.

“Nah. I’m not really hungry.”

“That’s fine,” Bitty says.

Kent stands there for a moment, allows himself to stare at Bitty, at the way his shirt’s riding up just a little bit, at the way his hair is mussed from laying on the couch.

“If you need anything, let me know?” Bitty says tentatively. “I know it can be real hard, losing like that.”

Kent nods, his throat going tight. He wants to cry.

He hasn’t cried at a loss in ages, but this time—God, this time, all he wants to do is lay in Bitty’s arms.

But he can’t.

“Oh, Kent,” Bitty says, standing, and it’s then that Kent realizes he really _is_ crying.

“Fuck, sorry,” he shakes his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Except Bitty walks over anyway and hugs him, slipping his arms around Kent’s shoulders. “Don’t be sorry for feelin’, honey.”

An unexpected sob wracks through Kent’s body, because he _is_ sorry. Not for losing, but—

But because he knows in that moment that he’s truly, irrevocably in love with Bitty.

And he’s terrified.

“Come sit,” Bitty murmurs, pulling him over to the couch. Then he leaves briefly, coming back with a glass of water and a box of tissues, and Kent thankfully manages to stop the flow of tears by then.

“I’m so… tired,” he says quietly, taking the glass of water.

“I know,” Bitty says, except he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know that Kent’s tired of not being able to kiss Bitty unless they’re having sex, tired of not being able to hug him for as long as he wants to. Tired of people leaving him.

Tired of being unwanted, unloved.

Tears come to his eyes again, and his hands shake as Bitty pulls him into his arms again, taking the glass of water back and setting it on the side table. And this time Bitty holds him for a long, long time.

Even though Kent’s the one who’s crying, it’s the most content he’s felt in ages.

xXx

“Sorry about last night,” Kent feels the need to say over brunch the next afternoon. It’s Bitty’s day off, and Kent slept in, which means Bitty had time to make a post-playoffs-consolation-spread with pancakes, bacon, eggs, the works.

Kent doesn’t even hide his pleasure at it all.

“I told you, don’t worry about it,” Bitty says, giving Kent a look. “I don’t even pay rent yet. I gotta pull my weight around here somehow.”

Kent smiles at him then, and Bitty smiles back, and for a moment Kent is paralyzed, caught by the way the morning sun shines on Bitty’s skin.

He’s beautiful.

“What?” Bitty asks, nudging him under the table with his foot.

And then Kent goes and ruins everything.

“I love you,” he says softly, without thinking.

The words tumble out into the air, and immediately Kent wants to take them back as a frantic horror grows in his chest—fuck, what did he just do?

Bitty blinks at him, eyes wide, and sets down his fork.

“Shit—I’m so sorry,” Kent blurts out, his mouth going dry.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Bitty’s lips draw into a thin line. “How long have you known?”

“Uh… I’m not sure?” Kent tries.

“ _Kent_.”

Kent sighs, pushing his plate away miserably. He’s not hungry anymore. “Not really ’til last night, but.”

“But?”

“But I’ve thought—maybe. For a while.” Kent shrugs helplessly, bracing himself against the racing of his heart. He feels dizzy.

Bitty reaches for his glass of orange juice. His hand is shaking. He takes a sip and puts the glass back down, staring at his plate. “And you weren’t gonna tell me.”

Kent shuts his eyes. There’s no use in lying. “No.”

Bitty says nothing. Kent expects him to get up and leave, but when he finally looks up at him again, Bitty’s eyes are filling with tears. “Why, Kent?” Bitty asks shakily. “You know I can’t—I _can’t_.”

Shuddering a sigh, Kent grips the edge of the table with his fingers. “I’m—I’m sorry. I just. I couldn’t _help_ it.” He really, really couldn’t. Softly, he adds, “You’re amazing, you know?”

“ _Stop_ ,” Bitty says, his lip trembling as he shudders a sob. “Seriously, Kent, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll shut up,” Kent says quickly, and then he’s crying too, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to fight it.

The misery wins.

“I’m gonna—go,” Bitty says.

 _No_.

Kent feels like he’s been shot.

“Wait—please, don’t—don’t leave, please,” he says, shaking his head. “Please, Bitty. I don’t—I don’t know what I would do without you.”

And God, here he is, quoting Jack at the worst of times.

It just goes to show how fucking screwed he is.

“Hey, it’s—it’s okay, Kent. I’m just going to my room, okay?” Bitty says, and his voice is softer this time. “I gotta think for a while.”

Kent swallows, forcing himself to slow down his breathing. “You’re not leaving—for good?”

“Not right now,” Bitty tells him, holding Kent’s gaze to show he’s sincere. “Promise.”

Kent nods. He manages to hold himself together until Bitty’s door clicks shut, and then he lets out a desperate sob, pushing away from the table, stumbling down the hallway to Kit’s room and shutting the door behind him.

Then he lies on the floor and lets himself cry as Kit curls into his side.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there when he finally sits up, face swollen and throat parched. For a moment, he considers just locking himself in here with Kit and never moving again. But unfortunately that doesn’t seem like the adult thing to do, so he pushes himself up off the ground and wanders out into the kitchen, feeling numb.

He makes sure Bitty’s not around before pouring himself a glass of water.

Bitty.

Kent’s in love with Bitty.

How did he manage to fuck this up so badly? He hadn’t even known he _could_ fall in love again, not with how desolate he’d felt after Jack. Every date he’d been on afterwards had been some sort of weird shitshow one way or another, and it was easier, eventually, to just stop feeling anything for anyone. But then there was Bitty. Bitty, who he’s so attracted to it burns, who he’s held and kissed and fucked, who’s been _there_ for him all this time.

His best friend, if he’s being honest with himself.

Turns out he’s shit at having best friends.

He downs half his glass of water at once, setting it on the bar and looking out at the living room, at the furniture Bitty chose to build with Kent. Kent’s apartment is warmer now. It looks more lived-in than in all the years before Bitty moved here, more like a home than ever.

A home that Kent will soon have all to himself.

Because Bitty’s going to leave him, isn’t he?

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Bitty belongs here almost more than Kent does, damnit. It’s not _fair_.

Kent supposes he could leave Bitty the apartment and just move himself. But Bitty would probably pitch a fit, especially over rent, and Kent’s not sure that’s a battle he can win.

He forces himself to stop thinking for a while, drinking the rest of his water and going to lie down in his room.

xXx

Kent hadn’t meant to nap.

When he wakes up, Bitty’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed. And then it all comes back to him, and Kent’s stomach flips so violently he almost thinks he might throw up.

“Hi,” Bitty says softly.

Kent wishes he could close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Bitty’s face crumples. “Kent… I’m so sorry.”

 _No_. No, no, no.

“Is there—is there _anything_ I can do?” Kent asks, and it comes out choked, his voice strangled in his throat.

Bitty shakes his head, and Kent is numb, so numb.

“Why?” Kent asks, and there’s a strange sort of anger growing in his chest. He wants to throw a fit, to yell and scream, even though he’s learned from experience that that’s not going to get him anywhere. “Why can’t you just—give it a chance?”

“Because, Kent, I care about you!” Bitty turns toward him, brows knit together, tears hovering in his eyes.

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t make sense,” Kent says, shaking his head. “I… don’t believe you.”

Bitty’s lips tighten. “Kent, listen to me, okay? I still have feelings for Jack. You know that. And I—I can’t be with you while I’m still not over him. Because I do care about you, Kent, and I’m not going to let you just end up like—like my post-Jack rebound!”

Kent covers his face. “It’s better than you l-leaving,” he says, and he’s shaking.

He’s scared.

He really fucking doesn’t want Bitty to go. More than anything.

He just wants him to stay, even if they stop having sex, even if they’re only friends—hell, maybe even if they aren’t. Just as long as maybe sometimes Bitty will talk to him.

It would be enough just to have him there.

Except… that’s not what Bitty wants.

Kent clenches his teeth against the pain in his chest, willing it to go away, even though he knows it probably won’t for a long, long time.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says, and then Kent feels him shift closer until he’s wrapping his arms around Kent. “I’m so, so sorry. I—I never wanted to hurt you, okay?”

“Then _stay_ ,” Kent pleads, sliding his arms around Bitty, gripping tightly as if maybe holding him there physically will make Bitty change his mind.

“I can’t stay if it’s just going to hurt you more!” Bitty pulls back and looks him in the eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please, Kent. It’ll be easier if I leave now. For—for both of us.”

Kent looks at him, at Bitty’s tearstained face. This close up he can see the tiny freckles that dot Bitty’s cheeks. He trembles as he reaches a hand up and wipes a tear from Bitty’s cheek.

He takes a deep breath. “Tell me you don’t have feelings for me,” he says slowly, “and I’ll let you go.”

Bitty’s lip trembles. “Kent…”

“Just say it, and I’ll leave you alone, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” Kent grits out.

His heart is breaking in slow motion as Bitty looks away.

Bitty opens his mouth. “I… I can’t say that.”

Kent stills, staring at him. “Why?”

And Bitty shudders a sob, shaking his head, covering his face with his arm. “Because I _like_ you! And I wasn’t—I wasn’t supposed to feel like this, but I _do_ , and—and I don’t want it to end up not being real. I don’t want it to just be some fantasy in my head because I’m missing Jack. Because I do miss him. I can’t help it.”

Suddenly Kent’s temper spikes, and now he’s mad at Jack, mad at Bitty too, mad at this whole fucking disaster.

He pulls away from Bitty, clenching his hands into fists, breath coming painfully fast. He shuts his eyes. “Did you think about him when we’re fucking?”

He really didn’t mean to say that. It just sort of spilled out. Fuck, now Bitty’s going to be upset.

But it’s worse than that, because Bitty just looks away from him and says, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Oh, _God_.

“Fuck,” Kent says, “ _fuck_. So it’s all just—because of him, isn’t it? I bet you wouldn’t have even have wanted me if I didn’t have ‘Jack Zimmermann’s ex’ written all over me, huh?”

“No! No, Kent—that’s just not true! Some of it—some of it might be because of him, but—that’s what I’m saying. I don’t _know_.”

“Well fucking figure it out, then!” Kent says desperately, and then he flops backwards onto the bed, rolling over so Bitty can’t see him cry.

“Kent… look at me, p-please,” Bitty says. Kent can feel him shaking.

Kent doesn’t look.

It’ll be easier if Bitty just leaves now. Maybe it’ll be like ripping off a bandaid, a sting so brief he’ll be able to forget about it as soon as it’s over.

But Bitty doesn’t leave. He lies down, curling into Kent’s back, and Kent doesn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

 

“I started looking for apartments,” Bitty says quietly, after what could’ve been hours. It’s evening now, the shadows long on the walls, and Kent flips over to face Bitty.

“Can we please not talk about this?” he asks. His chest stings.

Bitty sighs. “We gotta talk about it sometime. I’m not just gonna leave without sayin’ anything.”

 _Please don’t leave_ , Kent wants to say, but he thinks that if he does it then there’s a good chance he’ll cry again. And Kent really, really doesn’t want that to happen.

So instead he takes the infinitely more idiotic route—but really, what more does he have to lose?—and leans forward and kisses Bitty.

He expects Bitty to push him away, maybe even hit him. That might’ve even felt nice—maybe it would’ve put some perspective on things. But instead Bitty deepens the kiss, _oh_ _God_ , winding his hands into Kent’s hair, and Kent’s wrapping his arms around Bitty’s waist before he even knows it.

They’ve been together so many times by now that Kent’s unsurprised when they end up slipping out of their clothing, kissing feverishly, scrambling for the lube. Kent slicks his hand and then presses their hips together, taking both of their cocks in hand and stroking firmly as Bitty shivers against him.

“You can fuck me if you wanna,” Kent mutters into Bitty’s ear, breath coming heavy.

“No—this is fine,” Bitty tells him. And Kent’s kind of disappointed because he’d wanted their last time together to be as memorable as possible—but being face to face when Bitty comes makes it all worth it, Bitty crying out, his mouth rounding into a soft ‘O’ as he stares into Kent’s eyes. It’s watching Bitty that sets Kent off more than anything, the way Bitty’s mouthing his name, desperately bucking his hips against Kent.

Kent loves him. He loves him so fucking much.

Kent shudders, pressing his face into Bitty’s neck. “I love you,” he whispers, because he can’t hold it back.

Bitty doesn’t respond. It hurts, but that’s expected, and at least it didn’t hurt as much as knowing that in a few short weeks, Bitty will be up and out of Kent’s life forever.

Bitty tugs him closer and wraps an arm around him, stroking Kent’s back, and in that moment it almost feels real. Except it’s _not._

Kent clenches his eyes shut against the sudden bitterness welling in his stomach. He can’t avoid all of the bad feelings twisting around, choking him. It’s too much, and anyway, bitterness has always been his fucking downfall.

Just as it is when he looks up and asks, “So were you thinking about Jack now, too?”

Bitty looks stricken.

Slowly, he pulls away from Kent, shaking his head. “Fuck you. You know, what, Kent? I wasn’t thinking about him at all. I was thinking about you, and now I feel like shit. Are you happy?”

Kent flinches. “God. No, I’m not—fuck. I’m—I’m just an asshole, Bitty, I’m sorry.” Shame wraps around his throat, threatening to strangle him, and he tries to pull away, to hide from the reality of everything he’s gone and fucked up.

But Bitty won’t let him. He puts a hand firm on Kent’s waist, his face softening, and Kent can barely breathe. “You’re not an asshole,” Bitty nearly whispers. “You’re just hurt by someone you l-love, and. And. Oh, Kent, please don’t cry.”

“I wish you loved me,” Kent sobs, shaking his head and covering his face.

“I know, Kent,” Bitty says, pulling him close. Both of them are shaking, like a private earthquake breaking through, ruining them both. “I—I wish I did too.”

xXx

Bitty sleeps in his bed that night, even after they eat dinner, a silence thick with unsaid words curling around them all through the meal. But when nighttime comes, Bitty follows Kent to bed without protest, snuggling against Kent’s back as they drift off.

Kent can almost pretend that they’re happy.

They both sleep fitfully, though, and there’s no help for it. The sun still hasn’t risen by the time they both turn to each other, eyes open, wide awake.

“I—” Kent starts, just as Bitty says, “Kent—”

Kent swallows. “You go first.

“No,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “I wanna hear what you were gonna say.”

Sighing, Kent reaches over and lets himself stroke his hand down Bitty’s cheek, just once, before forcing himself to pull away. “I was just gonna say that… I’ll be waiting, you know. For if you change your mind. And if you don’t, that’s—that’s okay. I’ve been kind of awful to you, and I’m so, so sorry about that.”

He shuts his eyes briefly, then opens them again. He wants to be able to stare at Bitty as much as he can. Before he can’t anymore.

“But,” Kent adds, giving Bitty a serious look. “You should know that I really, really fucking love you, okay?”

That startles a laugh out of Bitty. “Lord,” he says, turning onto his back so he can stare at the ceiling. “I—I forgive you,” he says.

Oh. Wow.

For that brief moment, Kent feels at peace.

“But for the record,” Bitty adds, and all at once Kent is scared again. “I think you’ve honestly been real nice to me.”

Wait—what? Kent stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, you’ve literally been letting me live for free in your house,” Bitty says, ticking off a finger. “You got me my job, you helped me realize that I wasn’t the worst person in the world for leaving someone who it just wasn’t working out with… you’ve done a whole lot of good in my life for a guy who thinks he’s been beatin’ up on me.”

Kent can’t help a small smile. “I dunno. It’s nothing. Anyway, you cook and stuff. And you picked out all the furniture.”

Bitty gives half an eye-roll, smiling back at him nonetheless. “I’m not even gonna pretend that’s comparable. Just face it, Kent. You’ve been good to me.”

Kent laughs softly.

God, he wants to hold Bitty’s hand.

But hey, they’re still in bed together, so why not? Slowly, he slides his hand across the mattress toward Bitty, letting his fingers brush against Bitty’s as tentatively as he can.

And then Bitty takes his hand, squeezes it, warm and firm. Kent has to hold back a shiver of surprise.

He’s—he’s happy, like this, with this one, simple touch.

But good things don’t last forever. Not for him.

“Anyway…” he starts, resisting the urge to sigh. There’s no use drawing this out. “What were you going to say, before?”

Worrying at his lip, Bitty looks away, eyes flicking around nervously. “I—I dunno.”

That’s obviously a deflection, so Kent pushes himself up on one arm and looks Bitty straight in the eyes. “Sure you don’t.”

Letting out a small huff of a sigh, Bitty stares back at him, his expression growing somber. “It’s just… Kent, I don’t—I don’t want to leave here.”

Kent’s heart does a couple of somersaults in his chest. “I get that,” he says carefully. “I mean. This place has been your home for a while, hasn’t it? And—you know I’d let you stay here if you needed to. I could move out instead—”

“No, Kent,” Bitty says, resolve firm in the lines of his face.

“But—”

“No,” Bitty says again, and then he shudders a sigh and shifts himself closer, fitting his body against Kent’s.

Fuck, that feels nice.

They lay like that for a moment, warm, comfortable. Safe.

“Kent… It’s not the apartment that matters,” Bitty says finally, hitching a shaky breath. “It’s—it’s you. You’re my home, Kent.”

Kent stiffens as the world as he knows it falls out from beneath him.

He clenches his teeth, because this can’t be real, it can’t be. “Bitty—fuck, please don’t say stuff like that if you don’t—if you’re not going to end up staying, okay?”

“But what if I do?” Bitty blurts out.

“What?” Kent asks, feeling very much like a deer in the middle of a pair of headlights.

“I was just thinking—what if I tried? To be with you, I mean,” Bitty says slowly. “I—I’m real scared, Kent. I don’t wanna make promises to you that I can’t keep. I can’t tell you that this won’t fall apart, or that I won’t realize I feel differently someday, but… It’s just that it hurts to leave you! I didn’t know it would hurt so much.”

“Oh, Bitty,” Kent breathes, staring at him in wonder.

Bitty looks up at him, and it seems almost like there’s longing in his eyes. “So I was thinking—maybe that means it’s the wrong choice, to go. Maybe I should stay.”

“Fuck… Really?” Kent says softly, disbelieving.

Bitty leans into him, pressing their foreheads together. “I really like you,” he tells him. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“Shit,” Kent says, shaking his head in amazement. “I can’t believe… fuck. God, I love you.”

Bitty laughs, pulling him close. “I like you so much, Kent Parson,” he repeats, and then Kent pulls Bitty toward him and kisses him.

It’s warm and tender and everything he’s ever wanted, being wrapped up in each other just like this. Kent’s so dizzy with the heady feeling of Bitty honest-to-God _wanting_ him that he barely notices when the sun rises, light spilling slowly around them.

“I could get used to this, you know,” Bitty mumbles, smiling shyly as they pull apart to breathe.

Kent grins, reaching down to squeeze Bitty’s hand. “Well, you know, I’ve already gotten used to it. You should probably catch up.”

Bitty laughs. “Patience, you,” he tells him, eyebrow raised. “I still don’t know if this is gonna—you know. Be okay.”

“Thank you,” Kent says suddenly. “For trying, I mean. God, that means so fucking much to me.”

“Kent,” Bitty breathes, smiling and shaking his head. “Gosh. You’re welcome.”

Then Kent goes to kiss him, but Bitty only allows him a peck on the lips before ducking out of the way. “So, you should know,” Bitty says. “There’s something I didn’t tell you before.”

Shit. What now? “What is it?” Kent asks, frowning in alarm.

“Oh! Don’t worry, honey, it’s nothing bad,” Bitty reassures him, and Kent is relieved. “Just—remember when I said your mattress was uncomfortable?”

Kent nods.

“Well, I lied.” Bitty shrugs, grinning. “I like your bed. And I want to be in it. A lot.”

Kent snorts in delight. “I _told_ you,” he gloats.

Bitty flicks him in the ear.

God, it feels like a lifetime ago that Kent first brought Bitty here, to his apartment, to his bed—a strange night of intimacy that he hadn’t known to expect.

But then again, he hadn’t expected to fall in love, either. Not at all.

“My bed’s nicer with you in it, you know,” Kent says, and Bitty rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“I bet you say that to all your conquests.”

“No,” Kent says softly. “Only you, babe.”

Bitty smiles, warm and sincere.

Kent’s overcome with emotion then, staring at Bitty, _his_ Bitty, fuck. He leans in and pulls him close, wrapping Bitty up in his arms and holding him there for a long, long while.

And this time he doesn’t have to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://omgcpheartbreakfest.tumblr.com/) on the omgcpheartbreakfest tumblr page!


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